


Snow Globe

by someknave



Category: RedLetterMedia RPF
Genre: Beer, M/M, Soulmates, Space Opera, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 14:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 46,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17143382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someknave/pseuds/someknave
Summary: SNOW GLOBE (2018) [VHS LETTERBOX]FRONT COVER COPY:For as long as you love me so...Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.BACK COVER COPY:Just in time for Christmas, it's an existential horror story for the whole family! Featuring two VCR repairmen from Milwaukee (or are they) and their friend Rich, a Cupid demon from outer space. Join our heroes as they fight the forces of a mysterious evil that wants them destroyed at any cost. Does love really conquer all? Does anybody REALLY know what time it is? And where does Mr. Plinkett fit in?? Rated PG-13.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is very specifically about the VCR repair shop characters. That's the whole gimmick! Enjoy.

When the weather turned cold, Jay started asking questions. If this had happened in previous winters, Mike didn’t remember it. Either way, he didn’t care for it.

“Hey, Mike?”

“What.” 

“Do you remember applying for this job?” 

“What job.”

“This one. The job we’re at right now.” 

They were in the VCR repair shop, seated behind the counter. It was mid-afternoon but already dim outside, wet snowflakes splattering the dirty storefront windows here and there. The shop’s heater was broken again, and they were wearing their coats and gloves indoors, shivering anyway. Jay also had a hat, a lumberjack-looking thing with fleece-lined flaps that covered his ears. Mike glanced up from the coupon book he’d been paging through and saw Jay giving him that earnest look of his, expecting an answer.

“I think I had to try on the shirt,” Mike said, referring to the Lightning Fast-branded one he was wearing under his coat. “And it fit, so I got the job.”

Jay narrowed his eyes and looked away, nodding. He drank from his beer and shifted on his seat. It was cold enough inside that his cheeks were pink. The heating repair guy was two hours late and had stopped answering their calls. Mike returned his attention to the sub sandwich coupon he’d been contemplating. It was expired, but barely. 

“Hey, Mike?” 

“What.”

“Which one of us worked here first, do you remember? Me or you?”

“What does it matter.”

“It doesn’t, but, just. Do you remember?”

Mike sighed. Now he could vaguely recall having been asked questions like this before, probably by Jay. He couldn’t imagine who else would care, and rarely talked to anyone but his co-worker, roommate, friend, and whatever else Jay was: all things, really, in a way that Mike didn’t like to think about. 

“Me,” Mike said, though he wasn’t sure. “I worked here first.”

“Oh. Right.” Jay didn’t sound convinced. He drank more beer and leaned over to see what Mike was looking at. “Ooh,” he said, effectively distracted. “Lunch?”

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Mike said, tearing out the coupon. “You take this across the street to the sub shop, and when you give it to them, make sure you hold your thumb over the expiration date.” 

“You think that will work?” 

“I’m sure it will.” And if it didn’t, Jay would just have to pay full price for their subs. Mike would promise to pay him back, then wouldn’t. All their expenses were shared, anyway. 

Jay left to get the subs and Mike tried calling the heating repair guy again. He had some goddamn nerve taking his time like this. Mike intended to leave an angry message on his voicemail when it picked up yet again, but when he tried to he was informed that the mailbox was full. 

“Let’s just go home,” Mike said when Jay returned with the subs. The snow was less wet now, coming down harder, and during the trek to the sub shop and back Jay’s cheeks had gone from pink to red. “This is inhumane.” 

“Sure is,” Jay said. “But if we leave, the heater guy won’t be able to get in, and then tomorrow it’ll still be broken.” 

Mike threw his head back and groaned. He was hungry, cold, and didn’t have time for this shit, though admittedly they currently had no clients. They hadn’t heard from Mr. Plinkett in a while, so Mike could only assume the old man had frozen to death in his house and been eaten by his cats or something.

“Let’s just give it another hour,” Jay said, setting the subs on the shop’s counter. “If he hasn’t shown by then, we’ll go.” 

Mike groaned to demonstrate his annoyance with this plan along with his consent. He resented it when Jay was rational, though at least he had stopped being existential. They ate their subs in ravenous silence, shredded lettuce and onions dropping all over the counter. 

“They charged me full price for these,” Jay said, still chewing. His breath was oniony. “And they called me a con man, ‘cause of my thumb and the expiration date.” 

“Damn,” Mike said. “Remind me to pay you back sometime.” 

“Just buy the beer on the way home.” 

Mike picked up the bottle he’d been working on before lunch and found it empty. He lifted it and waved it in Jay’s face. 

“Refill,” he said. 

“Fuck you, I got lunch.” 

“But I’m the senior employee, as we just established.” 

Mike instantly regretted mentioning that nonsense. Jay’s eyes lit up in a way that made Mike nervous. Any kind of talk about how they got here seemed best avoided, for reasons he didn’t care to contemplate. 

“Fine,” he said before Jay could ask some new question. “I’ll get the refill, you lazy fuck.” 

It wasn’t technically a refill, just two new bottles to replace the most recent empties that were still sitting on the counter with the other most recent empties. Mike popped the cap off of his bottle, then Jay’s. He’d been meaning to learn to do this with his teeth, to shock and impress Jay if nothing else, but hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

“So, listen,” Jay said, crumpling up the remains of his sandwich in its paper wrapper. 

“I’m eating,” Mike said.

“You can listen while you eat.”

“I’d prefer not to.” 

“Shut up. Do you ever wonder what would happen if this shop closed?” 

“No.” 

“Do you ever wonder who _owns_ this shop?”

“That Tim guy.”

“Isn’t he just a manager?” 

“Then some corporate fuck we’ll never meet. I don’t know, who cares? Jay, just let me enjoy my sandwich in peace, okay? Mind your own business.” 

“This is my business. It’s literally the business I work in. For, like.” Jay frowned and contemplated the counter for a moment. “Six years? Seven?”

“Time is an illusion,” Mike muttered, not sure what he meant.

“You know,” Jay said, leaning over toward Mike and bringing his onion breath in close. He was whispering, cagey. “I think you might be _right_.” 

“Of course I am. I’m right about everything. Why are you whispering?”

Jay sat back, shoulders slumping. He looked distressed, also confused. Mike cast about for something reassuring to say but couldn’t come up with anything. He was more inclined to make situations worse, but Jay needed to calm down. Something was at stake here. Curiosity was a demonic seductress who had no place in their lives.

“You ever think about time loops?” Jay asked. His voice was trembling a little, maybe because of the cold. “And that we might be, like. Stuck in one?”

“That’s impossible.”

“How come?”

“You used to be fat. Remember? And I had more hair. Get over yourself, Jay. Nobody’s looping anything here.” 

This effectively silenced Jay, but Mike didn’t like the quality of his silence. He was sitting over there doing the kind of thinking that could only cause trouble. Mike could feel it. 

“How much longer are we giving this guy?” Mike asked. 

“What guy?” Jay said, pulled out of whatever morose trance he’d been in.

“The heating repair guy!”

“Oh. Uhh.” Jay craned his neck and squinted at the clock on the wall. Its glass front was almost as dirty as the shop windows. “Fifty-three minutes,” he said.

Mike groaned. “Great. And about forty-five minutes until my balls freeze off.” 

“We could talk about something to distract ourselves from the temperature.” 

“Like what.” Mike jerked toward Jay and glared. “Not about the shop! I don’t want to talk about work logistics. It’s depressing, Jay.” 

“I didn’t mean about that! I meant, like, I don’t know. Seen any good movies lately?”

Mike had not, but he had seen a few bad ones and had a lot to say about them. Jay interrupted him every third word or so, as usual. Mike pouted in silence each time this happened, but Jay didn’t seem to notice, also as usual. He was cheerful again, laughing overmuch. Exuberant, interrupting Jay was the best Jay, and Mike was relieved. His usual strategy had put things back on course. 

They were cleaning up the sandwich garbage and getting ready to head home when the heating repairman finally arrived, about two minutes before the hour was up. He was a fat guy with thinning hair and rheumy eyes, and he didn’t apologize for being late or seem to care when Mike berated him for being lazy and unprofessional. The guy looked eerily familiar in a way that made Mike wish he hadn’t shown up after all. His name tag said RICH.

“Gonna have to order parts,” Rich said after looking at their unit. “Gonna take a while for them to come in.” 

“What the fuck,” Mike said. He was familiar with this line about parts. He’d used it a lot himself. “That’s unacceptable. We have a shift here tomorrow. We’ll have to sit here all day, freezing our asses off. Do you want us to _die_?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, boys. Maybe you can telecommute for a few days.” 

Mike scoffed. “Highfalutin concepts like telecommuting may hold water in your industry, pal, but we live in the real world, okay? We-- What?”

Jay was poking Mike in the side, beckoning him over for a private conference. 

“Hey, Mike,” Jay said, keeping his voice low and drawing him away from Rich, who just stood there staring at them with his toolbox and his defeated posture. “Maybe if the heat is broken, we won’t have to work at all for a few days. Maybe it can be, like, an excuse to close up shop and still get paid. Do we have, uh. A union, or anything? Paid time off? Disability insurance?”

“What do our disabilities have to do with the broken heater?”

“I just mean, I’m not familiar with the rules. What _are_ the rules?”

“Jay.” Mike made his face stern and stepped backward, shaking his head. “You’re out of control. Of course we have to work tomorrow, we-- We just do. We just do!”

“Okay, jesus! Then I guess we have to work in the cold, ‘cause this guy has to order parts.” 

“Can’t pull these parts out of my ass, boys,” Rich said. “Them’s the breaks. No way around it!”

“Shut the fuck up and get outta here!” Mike said, pointing toward the door. He wasn’t sure why he was so irate; his heart was beating fast. “And don’t come back until you’ve got those parts, asshole!”

“Geez, Mike,” Jay said when Rich was gone. “Maybe don’t antagonize the guy so much. Our fate is in his hands, after all.” 

“Like hell it is. Don’t talk to me about fate! Fuck, I need a beer. Get your coat, we’re leaving.” 

“I’m already wearing my coat.” Jay held up his hands. “And my gloves. I have been all day.” 

“Oh. Right. Well, turn out the lights. That’s enough work for one day. Shit!”

It had stopped snowing and was almost properly dark out, though it was not yet four o’clock. The clouds overhead were heavy and promised more snow soon. They took their usual route home along the slushy sidewalks, stopping off in the liquor store that was across the street from their second-floor apartment, which sat over a bar where they were no longer welcome. That was Mike’s fault. He didn’t like to think about it and couldn’t entirely remember what his final infraction had been, just that Jay had helped him up the stairs to their place afterward and had unearthed an ancient bag of frozen peas from the back of the freezer for Mike’s developing black eye. For what purpose had they ever purchased frozen peas? Mike didn’t know. He just knew that same bag of peas was back in there now, ready for the next black eye. 

“What do you want for dinner?” Jay asked when they’d peeled off their outer layers and cranked the apartment’s heat up. “Chicken pot pie or lasagna?” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Mike said. He was already on the couch, flipping through channels on the TV and working on one of the beers they’d picked up on the way home. “You choose.” 

Jay stood in the kitchen for a long time, staring at the two options, both of which were frozen insta-meals. He took so long that Mike became concerned. 

“Shouldn’t the oven be preheating?” Mike shouted, probably louder than he needed to. Their apartment was small, and the kitchen was right there next to the living room. 

“It’s just, I feel like…” Jay trailed off and sighed. “Will you just pick one? I can’t decide. I’m sick of both.” 

“Then order a pizza!” 

“I’m sick of that, too.” 

“Jay, goddammit. Lasagna, okay? There, done.” 

Jay put their dinner in the oven and came into the living room with a beer. Mike could tell he was still in some kind of mood, but he pretended not to notice.

“So, question,” Jay said. 

“Pass,” Mike said. 

Jay continued, undeterred: “You said I was fat before, and you’re right, I remember that. But how’d I lose weight if we eat this frozen shit and pizza all the time? Plus, the beer.” 

“I don’t know, you took up jogging.” Mike had been jealous, as if the jogging was a new friend that Jay was ditching him to spend time with. But not jealous enough to join him.

“Huh. But I think I did something else, too. Like, I remember making-- Quinoa?” 

“You have never made quinoa,” Mike said, sneering. “I wouldn’t allow it. Where would you even get that shit? We shop for groceries at a convenience store that cashes checks.” 

Jay was silent, contemplating. Mike had to do something, but what? They always did the same things, here. He liked it that way. He’d been under the impression Jay had no complaints. 

“Yeah, forget it,” Jay finally said after he’d finished his beer. “It’s just weird.” 

“Consider it forgotten. Here, you pick something.” 

He dumped the remote in Jay’s lap and settled back to rest his head on the couch cushions. Everything was fine. It was just winter. The change of seasons always made Jay a little nuts.

The oven timer went off and they divied up the lasagna. Sometimes they ate together at the little table in the kitchen, but today it was covered in months’ worth of junk mail and empty beer bottles, so they ate straight out of the oven tin while watching a boring TV show that Jay liked. The lasagna tasted like it always did: salty, with the texture of moist rubber.

“Maybe I could make one from scratch,” Mike said, thinking aloud. He felt some kind of concession was in order. Small gestures could go a long way toward placating Jay. One could say that he didn’t ask for much. 

“Make what?” Jay asked, still looking at the TV.

“A lasagna. Or a pot pie. Hell, a pizza!” 

“We’d have to find a new grocery store.”

“Would we?”

“Uh, yeah, the Quik Stop doesn’t sell lasagna noodles. Or vegetables.” 

“They have canned vegetables, Jay. I think.”

“My point stands.” Jay turned to look at him. He had that earnest expression again. “But, okay. Yeah. I could help.” 

This was what they were good at, Mike remembered: Mike had the idea, Jay helped with the plan, together they did the work, and then they had a thing that they’d made. 

But what thing? And where was it now?

“Get me another beer,” Mike said, passing his empty to Jay. “Please, darling,” he added, to be funny.

Jay snorted. Then he did as Mike asked.

After another couple of beers, Mike fell asleep on the couch. He woke in the dark, alone, the TV turned off. A shot of panic went through him and he thought of Jay out jogging in the middle of the night, or just gone entirely, suddenly, without explanation. Things could happen that way and then just persist indefinitely. 

But Jay was in bed, asleep. Their apartment only had one bedroom and only one double bed. Originally one of them had lived here and the other had moved in after some crisis. Mike couldn’t recall the details. It didn’t seem important now. Maybe he had once slept on the couch, or Jay had, but that was no longer the case. He took off his work shirt and jeans and put on a thermal shirt with long sleeves. Jay wore a similar one, only his was smaller. 

“Are you awake?” Mike asked, whispering this as he lumbered onto his side of the bed. He could hear that he sounded drunk, but couldn’t do anything about it now. He didn’t feel drunk, just disoriented, like the walls of the room were not spinning but shifting around them, subtly realigning in the dark. 

“No,” Jay said. He was curled up on his side and turned away from Mike, facing the room’s single window. The clouds had thinned out and the moon was very bright. 

“Look, you have a point,” Mike said, still whispering. “But I think we should just leave it alone.” 

“What’s ‘it’?” 

“Everything. Everything in the fucking world, just let it lie.” 

“You’re the one who wants to make lasagna from scratch.” 

“What’s that got to do with it?” 

Jay didn’t say anything else. Mike thought he was only pretending to be asleep, but when he leaned over Jay’s shoulder to breathe intrusively onto his cheek, Jay was perfectly still and unbothered. 

Mike considered further testing his theory that Jay was actually awake by licking his face, then thought better of it and flopped over onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling and tried to remember the day he met Jay. It must have been at work. Jay wasn’t super noticeable at first glance, and back then he’d been something of a sad sack with bad hair, gap-toothed. He was the type who grew on you until suddenly he was in your bed every night and you couldn’t remember why. Mike did kind of miss the tooth gap, sometimes. Where did it go?

He tried not to think about that, or about beginnings and endings in general. It took him a long time to fall asleep, despite all the beer, and when he did he dreamed about being trapped inside a white, featureless room with no doors or windows and no way out. It was a nightmare, until he realized that Jay was in there with him. Then the dream mellowed and shifted and he woke up happy, doubly so when he remembered that the real Jay was sleeping beside him. 

So all was well, and nothing had to change if they didn’t want it to. Mike shut his eyes and told himself this, over and over, until he could sleep again.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, they showed up for work wearing extra layers, but the door to the shop was padlocked shut and someone had taped a handwritten CLOSED FOR REPAIRS sign inside against the glass. They stood there for a while in stunned silence, staring at the sign while glittery snow blew through the air. It was very cold and windy, also sunny. Something had occurred in the night. It was either unprecedented or it wasn’t; Mike couldn’t be sure. He resisted the urge to panic and shrugged when Jay looked at him, aghast. 

“Who put that sign up?” Jay asked, pointing. 

“The manager. Duh. Look, this is good. Now we have the whole day to ourselves.” 

“But--”

“No buts, Jay! Remember the lasagna plan? We have to find a new grocery store. We have a quest.” 

“A quest?” Jay was staring at the sign again. He was freaking out, clearly. 

“How about some fancy coffee, too?” Mike said, jabbing Jay’s shoulder with his finger. Jay looked at him, at least. “You like that hipster shit, right? Right, Jay??”

“Coffee? Um, sure. Okay.” 

The local coffee shop was run by a portly bearded man with glasses who wore ironic t-shirts and had tattoos. Mike had seen Jay lingering at the counter and talking to the guy before. He had once been in a band, or something. Mike refused to learn more, the guy’s name included. 

Unfortunately, it was there on a name tag on his shirt when they came up to the counter to order: JOSH. 

“This doesn’t seem like the kind of place that requires a name tag,” Mike said, pointing at the Lightning Fast patch on his own work shirt, which was roughly in the same spot where Josh’s name tag was pinned. 

“Oh, it’s not required,” Josh said. “In fact, I’m the owner. It’s just a commentary on transactional social interactions.” 

“A commentary.” 

“Right. For example, my name isn’t actually Josh.” 

“It’s Wizard,” Jay said, coming up onto his toes to whisper this into Mike’s ear, for some reason.

“That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” Mike said. “Do you have hot chocolate?”

“We have Mexican hot chocolate.” 

“What’s the difference.” 

“Difference from what?”

“Regular hot chocolate.” 

“What is regular hot chocolate, relatively speaking? What we serve is the regular hot chocolate of Mexico.” 

“Oh my god, just fucking give me one.”

“And I’ll have a large black coffee,” Jay said.

“Of course you will,” Mike said. “Of course.” 

Jay seemed as unperturbed as ever by Mike’s criticism of his life choices. He held his coffee with both gloved hands as they exited the shop, and blew through the steam that wafted from the mouth hole on the to-go lid. Mike sipped his hot chocolate and tried to determine what was Mexican about it. He was annoyed by how good it was, and also by his inability to remember where they’d parked their car.

“When’s the last time we drove somewhere?” he asked. 

“Uhh,” Jay said. “I think it was when we drove out to the woods to bury something. Or someone. Or maybe we were trying to dig something up?”

“That all sounds plausible. Oh, look.” Mike pointed at the mostly empty, snow-dusted lot across from the coffee shop. “There’s the car.” 

Jay insisted on driving. Mike was fine it it, particularly after the weird dreams he’d had the night before, many of which involved driving someone who was not quite Jay around on a highway somewhere. He settled into the passenger seat and tried the radio, but it was still broken.

“How do you know that guy’s real name?” Mike asked when they were on the road, heading away from their neighborhood and toward whatever other neighborhoods were out there. 

“What guy?” Jay asked.

“Josh. The Wizard. That coffeehouse fucker.”

“Oh, we’re friends.” 

Mike objected to this. “Since when?”

“You know…” Jay frowned, and Mike regretted asking a time-related question. “I’m not sure.” 

“What’s so great about him.” 

“Nothing’s so great about him. He’s just a guy who’s around sometimes.” 

“Hmph. Like me?”

“No, you’re around all the time. Why do you hate him? He’s nice.” 

“Who said I hate him? I don’t give a shit. Whatever. How are we going to find a grocery store?”

“I don’t know. How’d we find the woods, that time?”

“They were just there.” 

“How’d we find that gay bar?”

“What gay bar?”

“We drove to one, once. Didn’t we?”

“Uh--”

“And the heating repair guy was with us? For some reason?”

“I don’t think so.” Mike looked out the passenger side window, glowering. “Never mind. I’ll just keep an eye out. There will be a sign or something. Grocery store ahead!” 

“Where?” Jay craned his neck to peer over the wheel at the road ahead. He seemed especially short when driving.

“No, I mean that’s what the sign will say. If there is one. In theory.” 

“Ohhh. Hey, Mike?”

“What.” 

“What if we have to drive all the way to another state to find a grocery store?” 

“Then we’ll have to stop for gas.” 

“Have you _been_ to another state?”

“Of course I have. What’s wrong with you?” 

“I dunno. But yeah, I remember it now. You were gone for a while. Before we got the VCR repair shop jobs.” 

“Before-- What now?”

“Hey, Mike?”

“What!”

“When did we, like, meet?” 

Mike opened his mouth to respond, without knowing what he would say. Fortunately, the entire sky turned bright purple, then back to regular blue again, suitably distracting Jay. 

“Holy shit!” Jay shouted. He slammed on the brakes, and the car screeched to a halt on the otherwise empty road. “Did you see that?!”

“No. But look!” 

“Mike--!”

“Look, Jay, there! Straight ahead on the left!”

It was a massive grocery store: a Whole Foods, even. This would set things right, Mike thought, and he glanced over at Jay, whose mouth was still hanging open due to the sky thing. 

“That happens all the time in this part of the country,” Mike said. “Don’t be such a bumpkin.” 

“But this isn’t that far from where we live. Is it?”

“You need to get out more, Jay, that’s all.”

“Where even are we?” Jay started driving again, slowly. “Is this Waukesha?” 

“I don’t know what that is, but. Yes, probably. Are you hungry? I’m fucking starving. Hooray, we’re here!” 

Mike launched himself out of the car as soon as Jay pulled into a parking spot, before he’d even turned off the engine. He gave the sky a surreptitious glance and found it to be a normal shade of blue. It was perhaps weird that he was more worried about Jay’s reaction to sudden sky color changes, padlocks on the VCR repair shop, and time loops than he was about these things themselves, but managing Jay’s reactions was a useful distraction from his own mounting panic, which he was still in a position to deny as they headed into the Whole Foods. 

They appeared to be the massive store’s only customers. Maybe everyone else was in church. Mike wasn’t sure what day it was, but Sunday was a real possibility. Jay looked around warily and hung close to Mike’s side, as if he was expecting to have to dive behind Mike and take cover at any moment. 

“Kinda creepy there’s no one here,” Jay said, speaking from the corner of his mouth. 

“Yeah, but look at all this fresh produce!” Mike rushed toward it and grabbed two heirloom tomatoes from a display. “Check it out! Weren’t you just saying you want to start eating healthier or some shit?”

“Sort of.” Jay walked forward cautiously and picked up a lemon. “Three dollars for a lemon?” he said, boggling at the sign that protruded from a pile of them. “What the fuck?”

“It’s a Meyer lemon, Jay, okay?”

“What the hell is that?” 

“The best fucking lemon there is, probably! Go get us a shopping cart.” 

The truth was, Mike found the soaring ceilings and gaping emptiness of the Whole Foods spooky, too. There was some light jazz-type music playing on the overhead speakers, and otherwise the place was silent. The first person they saw as they made their way past the produce section was a dumpy guy behind the fish counter. He wore a little white hat and a neatly ironed green apron that bulged awkwardly around his girth. He looked stoned, also familiar. 

“Greetings, customers,” he said. “Can I interest you in some fresh fish?”

“Hey, don’t we know you from somewhere?” Jay asked. 

“I don’t think so,” the fishmonger said. “Where are you boys from?” 

“Milwaukee,” they both said, confidently and in unison. They looked at each other and nodded once, comfortable in the fact that they knew this much, at least.

“Ah, Milwaukee!” the fishmonger said. “I got a cousin there, maybe it’s him you’re thinking of.” 

Mike noticed the guy’s name tag, a white square pinned over the apron. It said RICH. The handwriting looked familiar. 

“I don’t think we want fish,” Jay said. He craned his neck to look over at the neighboring meat counter. “Maybe some ground beef for the red sauce?” Jay elbowed Mike, who was glaring intently at Rich, disturbed by something about the guy that he couldn’t put his finger on. “Mike?” Jay said. “Ground beef, eh?”

“Yeah, sure. And don’t call it red sauce. It’s marinara, Jay.”

“Henh?” Rich said, cupping a hand around his left ear. “Marijuana? You want some of that, I got a different cousin you can talk to.” 

“Shut up!” Mike said. “We’re talking about ground beef, okay? Where’s your meat guy?” They could see from where they stood that no one was behind the other counter.

“Oh, I’ll get him. One moment.” 

Mike sighed and rolled their cart down toward the meat counter. The meat displays were loaded up as if to serve a huge crowd of customers, steaks and pork chops presented in long rows and sausages piled invitingly. Even the ground beef looked somehow fancier than the ground beef he was accustomed to: redder, or cleaner, or something. 

“This place is high class,” Mike said, clapping Jay on the back. “I’m glad we came.”

“I guess,” Jay said. He was glancing around as if to check the surrounding aisles for nefarious characters. “Something seems off, though.” 

“I don’t know about that. Seems okay to me. I guess you could say I’m a glass half full kind of guy.” 

“No, you’re not. You’re like the opposite of that.” 

“You misunderstand me, Jay, you always have.” 

Jay rolled his eyes. A door opened behind the meat counter and a fat guy in a white hat and a green apron emerged. It was Rich, only now his name tag had been moved to the other side of his apron. 

“Greetings, fellas,” Rich said. “My colleague told me you need some assistance.” 

“What colleague?” Jay asked. “You’re that same guy.”

“Pardon, son?”

“You were just down there,” Mike said, pointing at the fish counter. “Offering to sell us weed.” 

“Whoa, watch the accusations there, mister! I did no such thing. I’ve never seen you boys before in my life.” 

“Ugh, fucking never mind,” Jay said. “Just give us some of that ground beef. A pound, I guess.” 

“Comin’ right up!”

Jay tugged on Mike’s arm while Rich was busy packing up their meat order. “Hey, this is weird,” Jay said, whispering. “Right?”

He looked so desperate for Mike to agree, sort of scared that he wouldn’t. Mike couldn’t lie to him: he nodded. It was weird. 

“But it’s just normal Milwaukee weird,” Mike said. “Nothing to worry about.” 

“I thought we left Milwaukee?”

“Right, I meant-- Waukesha.” 

“Should we actually eat the food from this store, do you think?”

“Uh, yeah. Why wouldn’t we?”

“I don’t know! Maybe it will trap us here, like in that one myth about the seeds. Or shrink us, like in that fairy tale about doing acid.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jay, but I’m sure it’s nonsense. This is a fully licensed Whole Foods. A perfectly normal shopping trip.” 

“Here you go!” Rich said, lumbering over as if he’d heard his cue. “One pound of top round ground beef, for your lasagna.” 

“Hey!” Jay said, pointing at him. “How’d you know we were making a lasagna?”

“Well, uh, you mentioned marinara sauce, so I put one and two together!” 

“We mentioned marinara sauce in front of the _other_ Rich,” Mike said, eyes narrowing. “The fishmonger one.” He was furious with this Rich character not for being obviously insane but for upsetting Jay needlessly with his sloppy deception. 

“Look, just take the meat,” Rich said, the light in his eyes flattening into exhausted resignation. He held out the ground beef, which was wrapped neatly in butcher paper and taped up with Whole Foods-branded tape. “What do you want from me? Have a nice fuckin’ day, all right?” 

“What the hell is going on here!” Jay asked, and he smacked both his hands against the glass that covered the meat display. “You’re some kind of con man, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know why you’d think that, sir,” Rich said tightly, his lip twitching up in a way that made Mike concerned for Jay’s safety, though Rich didn’t look like he could move very fast. There was something powerfully menacing about him, nevertheless. “Just take your artisan meat and go on with your shopping quest.” 

Jay gasped and turned to Mike, wide-eyed. 

“He knew we called it a quest!” Jay said, whispering, though Rich was right there and could hear him clearly. 

“It’s just a coincidence,” Mike said, and he snatched the meat from Rich’s hands. “So, um, come on, let’s go, I’m hungry. Maybe they’ve got samples in the bakery.” 

“Mike.” Jay’s eyes widened again. He reared backward a little, the color draining from his cheeks. “Are you, like. In on this?”

“No!” Mike shouted. “In on what?”

“On whatever’s going on here! Something!”

“Look, you two,” Rich said, leaning on the counter now. “Don’t be paranoid. You’re just two guys who live in Wisconsin and want to make a lasagna. There’s no point in reading anything else into it.” 

“That’s what you’d like us to think!” Jay said. He gave Mike a wounded look. “And maybe what you’d like me to think, huh?” 

“I just want some fucking lunch!” Mike said. It was true. He took a deep breath, tossed the meat into their shopping cart, and put his hand on Jay’s shoulder. “Look, Jay. I know you’re going through a hard time right now.”

“I am?”

“Well, sure. That padlock on the door of the shop this morning? And the sign?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jay said, mumbling. “That was pretty fucked up.” 

“Exactly. But what we’re going to do about it is this: we’re going to find the rest of the ingredients for lasagna, load up on stuff from the hot bar for lunch, and then drive back home and spend the rest of the day eating.” 

Rich was slowly backing away from the meat counter and toward the room he’d emerged from, flashing Mike a grin and double thumbs up. Somehow this seemed like a good sign. Mike started walking backward, too, away from the meat counter, pushing the cart with one hand and drawing Jay along with him by the shoulder. 

“What do you say, pal?” Mike asked. “Ready to finish our shopping?”

Jay glanced back at the meat counter. Rich had disappeared. Jay looked slightly distressed when he returned his gaze to Mike’s, but it passed quickly and he even smiled a little.

“Sure,” Jay said. “I like that hot bar.” 

“I know you do, Jay. I know you do.” 

The rest of their shopping quest was uneventful, though Rich was also their cashier and Jay eyed him with angry suspicion during the entire checkout process. Despite this, Mike was able to pay for everything without incident and usher Jay and their shopping cart toward the exit. 

“Have a Whole Foods day!” Rich said, shouting this after them.

“Shut up!” Mike shouted back, glowering. “What does that even mean?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just shoved Jay and the cart out the door and made a dash for the car, somehow sensing that they should not look back at the Whole Foods as they departed.

“I’ll drive,” Mike said. He was in a hurry to get home, trying not to envision this place collapsing into itself as they departed. Why would that happen? It was just an empty grocery store with a single employee masquerading as three different employees. They had seen weirder shit, over the years. 

Jay fell asleep on the drive home. Mike was glad for the peace and quiet, though also concerned, especially considering Jay had chugged that huge coffee on the drive out. He had noticed Jay tossing and turning a lot the night before. Maybe he’d had bad dreams. Usually he slept like a rock aside from the occasional moan. 

Mike fidgeted in the driver’s seat and found himself wishing Jay would wake up. He wanted to ask Jay some questions for a change, like: why do we sleep in the same bed? What are you dreaming about when you’re over there moaning? Do you think Wizard is a stupid name for a pretentious asshole, or is it one of those things you are inexplicably impressed by in a way that I will never comprehend? Why does it bother me when you like something that I hate? Why don’t you care when I hate the dumb shit _you_ like? These questions seemed less dangerous than the ones Jay had been asking lately, though maybe they were also dangerous in their own way. 

The drive home felt very long, and toward the end of it Mike considered what life would be like without Jay there to talk to, troublesome questions and all. The thought was like ice down the back of his shirt, both because it was horrible and because it seemed suddenly possible. He reached over to shake Jay’s knee until he woke up. 

“What’s happening?” Jay asked, slurring and muggy-eyed. “Where are we?”

“Almost home,” Mike said. His chest felt tight. He left his hand on Jay’s knee until it got weird, then removed it. 

After they’d stuffed the fridge with their Whole Foods loot and scarfed down their hot bar lunch, which by then was lukewarm at best, Mike took a nap on the couch and Jay took a long shower. He was still in there when Mike woke up and began searching around on his phone for some kind of lasagna recipe. When Jay finally emerged he had on a sweater and pajama pants, slippers. He hadn’t done his hair routine, which was vaguely alarming. 

“World’s Best Lasagna Recipe,” Mike said, reading from his phone. “The Best Classic Lasagna. Easy Classic Lasagna. The Most Amazing Lasagna Recipe. Ultimate Meat Lasagna. Crave-Worthy Sausage and Beef Lasagna Recipe. _Extra_ Easy Lasagna Recipe. Easiest Lasagna Ever! Grandma’s Lasagna Recipe--”

“Am I supposed to stop you at some point?” Jay asked. 

“Oh, here we go,” Mike said, still scrolling through search results. “Easy Lazy Day Lasagna. That sounds applicable.” 

“What about the grandma one?” 

“I don’t know, sounds kinda gross.” 

“I thought grandma food was supposed to be extra good. Hey, Mike?”

“What.”

“Do you remember your grandma?”

“No. Yes! Wait--” Mike considered the memory he had recovered, of an old lady who lived in a house full of junk. “Never mind, that was somebody else.” 

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Jay said, mumbling.

“That’s right, Jay. It doesn’t. Now get started on those dishes.” Mike pointed to the kitchen sink, which was overflowing with dirty plates and bowls. “I’ll, uh. I’ll start boiling water for the noodles.” 

“I used to be pretty neat and tidy,” Jay said. He went to the sink and rolled up his sleeves, turned on the water. “When did that change?”

“Probably when I moved in,” Mike said. 

“But if this had been my place first, I feel like I would have kept it pretty clean. And it seems like this place has always been a mess.” 

“Must have been mine first, then!” 

“When did we even use all these bowls? Or plates? Don’t we usually eat straight out of the microwave containers?”

“Jay. I don’t fucking know. What gave you the impression I have all the answers?”

“Yesterday you told me you’re always right.” 

“That’s different! Start washing, get excited. It’s lasagna time.” 

Mike peeled himself off the couch and went into the kitchen to start prepping the ingredients, the Easy Lazy Day Lasagna recipe open on his phone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cooked something. Even with the frozen stuff, Jay was usually the one who put it in the oven. There was a vague memory of grilling hamburgers, once: Jay had been there, too. 

“Remember when we grilled hamburgers?” Mike asked, thinking Jay would appreciate the question. 

“Not really,” Jay said. “When was that?”

“Uhh. I don’t know. It was after you lost weight, but before I lost my hair.” 

“You didn’t lose your hair.” 

“Relatively speaking.”

“No, not even that. When’s the last time you looked in a mirror?”

Jay said this with a kind of annoyed detachment, staring down at the dish he was washing. Mike stared at Jay, waiting for this question to make sense. He had a tub of ricotta cheese in one hand and a dripping bushel of fresh parsley in the other. 

“When’s the last time _you_ looked in a mirror?” Mike asked, trying to make this sound like an effective comeback. 

“Never mind,” Jay said. 

Mike went to the fridge and got a beer for each of them. It was three o’clock; they were starting late today, hence Jay’s shitty mood. He opened both and set Jay’s bottle near the sink. 

“Anyway,” Mike said, lifting his phone to read from it, “‘This easy lasagna recipe is perfect for busy weeknights! An amazing comfort dish that the whole family will love.’ Hey, it calls for _dry_ lasagna noodles. I guess that’s the easy part.” 

Jay said nothing, but he did reach over to drink from the beer Mike had set out for him.. 

“So. Okay. Pre-heating the oven now. Yep. Three-seventy-five. There we go, done. Step one complete.” 

“Are you going to narrate this entire thing?” Jay asked.

“Of course I am.” Mike was pleased: annoyed Jay was better than silent Jay. “Do we have a nine by thirteen baking dish?”  

“I dunno,” Jay said. “Look in the drawer under the oven.” 

Mike bent down to check. In doing so, he caught sight of his reflection in the glass front of the oven door. He didn’t want to look at all, was afraid Jay’s suggestion that he hadn’t done so in a long time might mean he would see a Jabba-esque monstrosity staring back at him. He dared a glance without really meaning to, and his mouth dropped open when he saw he not only had his full head of hair but also a jawline the likes of which he hadn’t enjoyed since-- He couldn’t remember when, but it was a fuckin’ long time ago. 

“What the hell!” Mike said, springing up to turn his wild-eyed stare on Jay. “Since when do I-- How did this-- When the fuck did we go _back in time_?”

“We didn’t!” Jay said. “At least, I don’t remember that happening. Do you?”

Mike ran into the bathroom without answering. It was the only place in the apartment where they had a mirror, but this didn’t explain why Mike felt like he hadn’t seen his own face in approximately twenty years, which was about how long ago he’d looked like this, or so he’d thought. 

He stayed in the bathroom for a long time, hands braced on the sink, face close to the mirror. He blinked rapidly, cleaned the surface of the mirror, splashed water on his face. Nothing changed the fact that he looked like he did when he was younger. He wasn’t even sure how old he was now, but he wasn’t _this_ age, wasn’t this guy anymore.

When he returned to the kitchen, he braced himself for Jay to be smug and say he told Mike so, but Jay never pulled shit like that, even when he most deserved to. He was quiet, and he gave Mike only one sheepish glance as he moved from the ground beef that was browning in one saucepan to the tomato sauce that was simmering in another. Jay hadn’t reverted to looking like he had when they were kids: he was still handsome and self-possessed, even with his hair floppy and unstyled. 

“Smile at me,” Mike said, to make sure the tooth gap hadn’t somehow returned. 

“What?” Jay said. He made a face that wasn’t anything like a smile, nonetheless revealing his now-gapless teeth. 

“How is this possible?” Mike asked. He grabbed the back of one of the kitchen chairs and braced himself on it, feeling like he was going to either fall over or drift off the floor and float helplessly in mid-air, gravity abandoning him. 

“How is what possible?” 

Jay fetched Mike’s beer and crossed the kitchen to bring it to him. He looked sympathetic, also a little relieved.

Mike chugged what remained of the beer in three swallows. “This,” he said, pointing to himself and then at Jay. “Why don’t we match, why-- Why do I still look like this, and you-- Like that.” 

Jay shrugged. “Time loops,” he said. “Or something.” 

“That’s not a thing, Jay!”

“Says who? Kinda seems like it is. Here, sit down. You’re all pale.” 

Jay helped Mike into the chair as if he was a feeble old man. Mike felt like an old man, and was sure he could remember becoming one, more or less, but every time he looked down at where his sizable beer gut should be, there was only the modest stomach roll of a young adult. How had he not noticed until now? When had this even _happened_?

“Now you see what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Jay said. He patted Mike on the head and handed him another beer. “But it’s okay, right? I mean, there are worse things than de-aging.” 

“This is like that episode of Star Trek,” Mike said. He felt slightly better already for acknowledging this, and drank from his beer. “The Next Generation. ‘Rascals,’ it was called. Picard and Whoopi Goldberg get turned into twelve-year-olds. It was a transporter accident.”

“Sure it was.” Jay patted Mike’s head again and returned to the stove. “So, yeah. Obviously we have some things to figure out.” 

“Even though they were twelve-year-olds in appearance, they retained their adult memories,” Mike continued, his eyes glazing over. “They get boarded by Ferengi who want to enslave the crew and Picard ends up saving everyone by pretending Riker is his father and tricking the guard--” 

“Is this applicable to our situation somehow?”

“--After they get rid of the Ferengi they use the transporter to turn everybody back into adults, except for this one asshole who needs to learn about the joys of childhood or some shit.” 

“Sooo. Is that you, in this scenario?”

“I don’t think so. I’m probably Picard.” 

“Oh, sure.” 

Another two beers and more tangents about Star Trek episodes featuring time travel and/or body swap plots made Mike feel better about the whole thing, as did the fact that Jay was doing all of the lasagna preparation while pretending to listen. When the lasagna was fully constructed and in the oven, Jay joined Mike at the table and cracked open a celebratory third beer for himself. 

“How long have I been like this?” Mike asked. 

“I don’t know, a while.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me??”

“I wasn’t sure if I was just imagining things. I get that a lot, lately.”

“Like when?”

“Like when that guy at the Whole Foods was pretending to be three different people for some reason?”

“Oh, yeah.” 

“So what do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” Mike said, frowning. “I’ve spent my life looking forward…”

“You have?”

“Sort of. Mostly that’s a Picard quote. From the episode I was talking about. Where he’s twelve.” 

“Okay, okay.” Jay held up a hand so Mike wouldn’t get started again. “Well, we don’t have a transporter. And I don’t even think it’s a big deal, uh. It’s not like you’re a little kid. You just look like you did when we met. So what?”

“So you do remember when we met?” Mike said, smacking his hands on the table. 

Jay flinched. “No! Not really. But I remember you looked like this. Don’t you?”

“It’s weird.” Mike stood and crossed his arms over his chest, began pacing. “It’s like you’ve just always been here. But I know there was a time when I found you. It's like I just opened a drawer one day and you were in there, waiting.” 

“A drawer?” 

“Not literally. But something like that.”

“I think I know what you mean,” Jay said, and he looked over at the kitchen cabinets and drawers, as if some other people might be waiting inside them. 

Mike shuddered and went to the fridge for more beer. He cursed when he saw they’d already finished their evening six pack. 

“I definitely opened up something and found you in it,” Jay said. He stood and brought his half-empty beer to Mike, generously offering a sip. “But I think it was more like-- A computer? Like I booted up a computer and there you were.” 

“That don’t make no sense!” Mike drained the rest of the beer and threw the empty bottle over his shoulder. “Jay,” he said, grabbing both of Jay’s shoulders to communicate the gravity of the situation. “What if. We’re in. An episode of Star Trek?”

“You’re drunk.” Jay grinned like this improved the situation. “And you could never drag me into an episode of that fucking show, no matter what the alternative was.”

“Fine. But we’re definitely not in some kind of Lynchian nightmare movie, because I refuse to be.” 

“I didn’t say we were! I think-- I think we should get another six-pack, and eat our lasagna, and sleep on it.” 

Mike had never been gladder to hear anything, and his gladness reminded him that he had been in such a state hundreds if not thousands of times over the years, always because Jay had the opportunity to give him hell and for some reason chose not to. In lieu of tackling Jay in an inappropriate hug that would lead to who knew what kind of gratitude exactly, he nodded and got his coat. 

It was dark out by the time they trekked toward the liquor store, and not as cold as it had been in recent days. They could still see their breath, and muddy snow was piled alongside the cleared sidewalks. The store itself was humid and unchanged in the usual comforting way: dusty and stale-smelling, with the same old inventory and the same stoic guy behind the counter. His name was Jim and he had always commanded Mike’s respect for doing an adequate job while also not saying much. 

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Jim said as they were heading out.

“Is that today?” Jay asked, whirling back.

“Depends on what country you’re in,” Jim said. He shrugged. “Anyway. Enjoy the beer.”

“We will,” Mike said, tugging Jay out. “Thanks, brah.”

“Why’d you call him brah?” Jay asked when they were back out in the cold, heading home.

“I don’t know. Is it Thanksgiving?”

“Could be? If it is, hey. We have a homemade meal to look forward to.” 

Their apartment smelled different when they returned: better, more like an actual home. It was mostly the nearly finished lasagna, but also something intangible that Mike associated with functional central heating.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have left the oven on while we were out,” Jay said. 

“I guess one of us could have stayed here while the other got beers," Mike said. "When’s the last time we were apart?”

“You mean, like. Not together?” 

“Right.” 

“Uhh. The other night, you fell asleep on the couch.” Jay pointed at the couch, to illustrate. “And I went and got in bed by myself.” He pointed toward the bedroom. “So. Does that count?” 

Mike stared at Jay for a few moments, concerned about where this conversation was heading. 

“Let’s just get drunk,” he said, cracking open a beer. “We’ll worry about that other shit later.”

“Fine by me!” 

This was a flawless plan, as usual. They drank beer, ate their home-cooked lasagna and watched movies until they both passed out on the couch. 

Mike woke up mid-snore at some point during the night. His head hurt, but that was a comfort, because if he could have a headache after a night of drinking, he was still somewhat tethered in real time. Jay was curled up on the couch next to him, fast asleep. His hair had dried haphazardly, which was another good sign about time moving from decision into consequence. 

Mike went into the kitchen and filled an old novelty Packers cup with water from the tap. He stood at the window that looked out over the apartment’s parking lot and gulped water, thinking about Star Trek and time loops and also vaguely about Jay’s hair. Somehow it was all connected.

The horizon wasn’t really visible at that hour, beyond the glow of the streetlights around their building. It was a clear night, but the moon wasn’t present in the slice of sky that he could see from their place. Mike watched what he could see of the sky for a while, awaiting an aircraft bleeping by in the distance, or even a shooting star, but the sky was only dark and characterless, looking blankly back at him. 

He refilled the Packers cup at the tap and brought it to Jay, who grumbled about being awakened but drank from the cup when Mike offered it. Without needing to ask, Mike knew Jay had a headache, too. He also knew they had done this before, many times: come up to the point of almost knowing something, then drank enough beer to forget everything and restart the whole process in the morning. He wasn’t sure now if he wanted to do it all over again, though the prospect of anything changing still filled him with dread. What else was out there, beyond their little realm? Plenty of bad things, surely. 

Jay got into bed wearing his sweater and pajama pants, the slippers abandoned in the living room. Mike stretched out next to him on his back, fearing he would never sleep again. His mind felt over-busy, dangerously engaged. He tried to summon a Trek-inspired curiosity about what was out there, but couldn’t remember the last time he’d faced anything truly difficult. How would he fare? Would his vessel for exploration be that piece of shit car they’d driven to Whole Foods? 

He did eventually sleep, though thinly, and when he woke up to pale morning light, Jay had burrowed under the blankets beside him. He was either still asleep or pretending to be. 

Mike got out of bed and checked the bathroom mirror. He still looked like his younger self. It was a relief, but only partially. Something way out in the universe beyond their control had glitched. It could be worse, he realized, and maybe they should just be glad it wasn’t and carry on without rocking the boat further. But if they didn’t address the issue, they also ran the risk of the glitch worsening and causing real problems. He took a deep breath and summoned as much Picard-like courage as he could. It was time to stop living in denial and settling for this repeating pattern of their nightly drunken stupor. They had to figure out what was going on here, once and for all. 

“Jay,” he said, returning to the bedroom doorway. “Wake up.” 

“No,” Jay said, still mostly buried under the blankets. 

“What do you mean, no?”

“I’m hungover. Leave me alone.” 

Mike resolved not to panic outright, though he couldn’t remember the last time Jay had refused to do something he asked. 

“I’m hungover, too,” Mike said. “Doesn’t matter. There’s work to be done.” 

“The shop’s still closed for repairs.” 

“How do you know?” 

“I just do. Go check, if you don’t believe me.” 

“So what if it is? That’s not the kind of work I’m talking about, Jay, and you know it.” 

“I don’t know anything. Go away, Mike. I need to sleep.” 

Mike left the bedroom and paced around the apartment, now unable to deny his mounting panic. Since he had embraced a plan of action during the night, Jay seemed to have flipped to the opposite position. Was this some kind of closed system where only one of them could ever want to do something about their situation, while the other one necessarily hampered the active party? Just yesterday Mike had been determined to throw any roadblocks he could in front of Jay’s attempts to get answers.

Whatever the case, he could either physically drag Jay out of bed and push him out the door, or start this quest on his own and hope that Jay could be convinced to join him after he had some kind of idea about what to do next. He went back into the bedroom, sat on the bed and sighed mournfully. Jay remained under the blankets and ignored him. 

“What if I made you breakfast?” Mike asked, elbowing the motionless mound that was Jay. 

“I don’t want any. Feel like I’m gonna hurl. Just go do your thing. I’ll be here. I’ll be fine.” 

Mike wanted to believe this, but it seemed impossible. How could Jay be fine without him? Any number of things could go wrong while Mike was away. Still, he had the sense that there was no time to waste. Some distant clock had started ticking too long ago already, possibly around the time Mike reverted to his younger appearance. He put on his coat and boots, having already decided where he would begin this quest. 

There were other people trapped in this loop, or whatever it was. They were reliably around, unchanging. Perhaps they knew something. 

As only one local business was open at that time of the morning, he had no choice. 

He was off to see the Wizard.


	3. Chapter 3

Mike had never noticed the name of the pretentious coffee house before. For some vile hipster reason it was called THE GRADUATE, and this made him dislike it all the more. He steeled himself and went inside, glad when he saw he was the only customer. Upon consideration, he couldn't remember ever seeing another customer in there, except of course for Jay.

“Greetings!” the Wizard said. He was at the counter, grinning stupidly and still wearing his JOSH name tag. “What can I get for you this morning?”

“I’ll tell you what you can get for me,” Mike said. He rushed up to the counter and slammed his fist onto it, upsetting a jar of biscotti. “I’m here for answers, goddammit!” 

“Ah, excellent! And which answers do you seek, precisely?”

Mike hadn’t gotten as far as figuring out how to phrase his many questions, most of which he still feared asking. He wished Jay was there. Jay was better at talking to assholes who only went on smiling benignly when someone demanded answers.

“Just who the hell are you and where do you come from?” Mike asked. 

“Oh boy. Those are big questions. I’m not sure I’m qualified to answer. How about a nice Mexican hot chocolate instead?”

“Excuse me? No! What? How are you not qualified to tell me who you are and where you came from? Let’s start with this, fuckhead: are you from Milwaukee?” 

“Ehhh,” the Wizard said, and he winced. “I’m actually not sure. Unfortunately, I don’t have that information, as it was never part of the lore, at least not to this iteration’s knowledge. Can you hang on a moment? I think I’d better call my manager.”

“Your manager? Yesterday you told me you own this place!”

“This coffee place, yes, but ownership doesn’t mean much ‘round these parts. Maybe ‘manager’ is the wrong term. He’s more like the mayor.”

“Of what?”

“Um, the town? Here, let me fix you a drink while you wait. On the house.” 

“It had better have some bourbon in it.”

“I think you’ll find that you’re better off with a clear head, going forward.” 

“I think you’ll find my fist in your face if you keep talking like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Never mind, just bring me the fucking mayor.” 

The Wizard was busy behind the counter, mixing up some frou-frou coffee concoction. Mike wasn’t planning on drinking it. This guy was clearly shady and probably attempting to drug him. He thought about Jay, back at home in bed and vulnerable, and wondered if he shouldn’t run home to make sure some henchmen hadn’t been dispatched to kidnap him. Already the stakes felt pretty high.

“There,” the Wizard said, setting a tiny cup full of frothy cinnamon-scented something down on the counter, beside the spilled biscotti. “You just enjoy that, friend. It’ll make you feel better. I’ll be right back.” 

He walked off. Mike leaned over the counter as soon as the the Wizard’s back was turned, positioning himself to eavesdrop on his phone call. The coffee house had an old fashioned rotary phone mounted on the wall, because of course it did. 

“Yeah, hi,” the Wizard said, whispering into the receiver. “One of the repair shop guys is here, and he’s asking me questions. Should I, like, engage? Or do you want to handle this?”

Mike instinctively turned toward Jay to boggle in alarmed disbelief at this development, then remembered Jay had refused to come with him. He put aside his persisting worry about that for another time and refocused on eavesdropping.

“This is way above my paygrade, man,” the Wizard said. “Plus, it’s the one who hates me.” 

“I don’t hate you,” Mike said, muttering this under his breath, jaw clenched. “Self-important fucker.” 

“Fine, just get here quick. He’s already threatened to hit me. No, I’m not scared! I’m just saying, he’s agitated.” 

The Wizard hung up and sighed. Mike hurriedly dumped the tiny coffee drink into the empty biscotti jar, then shoved all the biscotti back in and stood it upright. The Wizard seemed to see him doing this but didn’t comment upon it. 

“The mayor’s on his way,” the Wizard said. “You want something else to drink?”

“No, I’m good. Look, just level with me. Am I dead?”

“Do you feel dead?”

“No! I mean, I have this.” Mike grabbed his chest and pressed his fingers in until he could feel his ribs and his heartbeat. “Right? This is, like, physically here, and I ate dinner last night, and drank your stupid Mexican hot chocolate yesterday. It even burned my tongue!” He could no longer feel the effect of this burn, but only because the tongue was the fastest healing part of the body, or so he thought he remembered from whatever form of education he’d once had. 

“Sorry about the tongue burn,” the Wizard said. “The mayor should be here soon. He’ll explain everything.” 

“Who is this mayor guy?”

“Uhh, well. That, too, is a very big question, in context.” 

“What is wrong with you?”

“How so?”

“Is it that fucking impossible for you to just once give a simple response? Are you even capable of a normal conversation?”

“Dude, this is so not a normal conversation. Trust me.”

When the mayor arrived, he was precisely the person Mike had feared would show up: the same guy who’d come to repair the VCR shop’s heater, also the guy who manned every counter in the Waukesha Whole Foods. Rich the Uncanny. 

The word ‘mayor’ had conjured for Mike the image of a man in a suit and top hat, maybe with a sash that said MAYOR across his chest. Rich entered the coffee shop wearing a dumpy windbreaker and ill-fitting jeans. He carried a greasy paper bag, and upon entering took a seat at a table near the front windows and pulled out what looked like a Philly cheesesteak. 

“All right, get over here,” Rich said, presumably to Mike. “And hey, Josh? You got, like, a Dr. Pepper or something back there?”

“Can’t you just conjure one?” the Wizard asked. He was still behind the counter, now with a sourpuss expression. 

“Fuck no!” Rich said. He threw out both hands and turned toward the Wizard. “I’m supposed to be on break! I’m doing you a favor here, hello?” 

The Wizard went into the shop’s backroom, grumbling to himself. Mike stayed in place near the counter, fighting the feeling that he was about to face his fate. 

“Well, do you want answers or what?” Rich asked. He gestured to the empty chair across from him. “Sit down, and get that freaked-out look off your face. You’re not dead, you can’t die! I mean, okay. In one sense, of course you are, your whole planet is dead, or anyway it’s a lifeless rock these days, but that’s not _you_ back there in the post-apocalyptic dust. You’re here, aren’t ya?” 

Rich took a huge bite of his cheesesteak. Its juices dripped onto the tabletop, also onto his jeans. Mike remained in place and watched the Wizard deliver an old-fashioned glass Coke bottle to Rich’s table. 

“Oh, Christ,” Rich said, speaking with his mouth full. “Is that a fucking Mexican Coke?”

“Look, man, it’s the only soda we stock here. Why are you giving me a hard time? I think I handled this pretty well.” 

Rich scoffed and pointed at Mike. “Yeah, he looks real not-traumatized, great job.” 

“You’re the one who casually opened with that shit about his dead planet.” 

Rich waved the Wizard away with one hand and refocused on his cheesesteak. The Wizard walked off shaking his head and disappeared into the back of the cafe. Mike remained frozen in place. 

“What the hell are you afraid of?” Rich asked when he looked up again, cheese sauce on his chin. “Get over here. I’m on your side!”

Mike didn’t move, though it was true that he didn’t feel threatened by Rich this time around. From this vantage point Rich had a kind of slummy, harmless quality, maybe by design.

“Who are you?” Mike asked. 

“For all intents and purposes, at least for yours, I’m Rich. Also, uhhh. How can I put this in terms you’ll understand? Well, I’m sort of your offspring, really.” 

“No. No, you’re not. I don’t have kids. And you’re clearly older than me.” 

“Eh, what do you know. Come over here and let me take a look at you. I can’t remember the last time we had a regular goddamn conversation. We used to hang out all the time!”

“When. Where. How do I know you??”

“Oof. Talking like this is exhausting, you know? In three dimensions, or whatever. Antique communication, you might call it. Anyway, uhhh. You know me primarily from the time I was created from the likeness of you and your business partner so I could travel back through time and space to protect your cultural contribution to the galaxy from a direct attack, therefore inserting myself into your life as what you back then I guess would have called your best friend, though if we’re really going to get into it, that wasn’t actually you, as such.” 

Mike felt himself sort of wobble, and for a moment he was afraid he was beginning to blink out of existence, Marty McFly-like, but he was only stumbling backward in shock. His ass hit the coffee counter and he slumped there, trying to muster the ability to insist all of that was horseshit. He couldn’t make any sense of it, but he also couldn’t shake the feeling that Rich was imparting some kind of interdimensional wisdom as best he could, and that it shouldn’t be taken lightly or scoffed at.

“C’mere,” Rich said, beckoning. “Everything’s fine, I promise. Do you want some curly fries?” He dug a greasy carton of them from the same bag that had held his cheesesteak. “They’re still hot!” he said, beaming. 

“I don’t understand anything you just said.” Mike walked toward the table, slowly. Those curly fries smelled pretty good. “Where’d you get that food?” As far as he knew, there was no Philly cheesesteak place in town that also had curly fries. 

“It’s from an establishment echo I have access to, thanks to you. Sit down and I’ll explain.” 

Mike sat, slowly, keeping an unblinking stare on Rich the whole time. He didn’t take a curly fry when Rich shoved the carton toward him on the table. 

“You look well,” Rich said. “I guess you gave the other one some reason to project the primo recall onto you, huh? Been sweet talking him or something?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“It’s good you came without him, actually. This always takes like fifty times longer if the two of you are here together to bounce your ignorance off of each other.” 

“What always takes longer?”

“Explaining the universe and your place within it! Done it a million times before. You two are lucky I have a soft spot for you, on account of my being created in your image and so forth.” 

Mike eyed the fries, wanting to eat one just to prove that he could taste things. He swallowed, and felt his throat move, at least. 

“You’re trying to tell me I’m not real,” he said, when he could speak again.

“No, no,” Rich said, waving his hand over the table. “Well. Yes, but only as per your backchannel misinterpreted view of reality. You’re the echo of a human who was alive once and therefore ‘real,’ per your limited definition. But that doesn’t mean you’re not real, too!” 

“What the fuck is an echo.” 

“It’s like a memory. A carefully preserved yet extremely slippery cultural memory, in your case. You can’t remember it now, because it’s not _your_ memory, but the origin of your echo once created media content on the planet that was at the time referred to as Earth.” Rich leaned forward and raised his eyebrows. “Remember _Earth_??” he asked, more loudly than necessary. 

“Of course I fucking remember Earth. That’s-- This.” Mike gestured expansively to the coffee shop and environs. “What are you, some kinda demon?”

“Funny you should ask that.” Rich wiped his chin with a napkin. “Have some fries, Mike. Everything’s gonna be fine.” 

“Bullshit. How am I supposed to tell Jay that some crazy demon is trying to convince us we’re dead and no longer on Earth? He’s gonna freak out!” 

“True, he usually takes this worse than you. But you’ll get through it, buddy. You’ve done it millions of times! Literally!” 

“So we are in a time loop.” 

Rich scoffed. “What a vulgar simplification. Where does he come up with this stuff? Time loop, jesus christ. Sometimes I think he’s the smart one, and then I’m like: maybe not!”

“I don’t see what’s so outlandish about it,” Mike said. He felt defensive on Jay’s behalf, which was rare. “Considering this!” He pointed to his face. “Is my old face!”

“It’s the primo recall,” Rich said, speaking slowly and lifting his hand, thumb and forefinger drawn together in an o-shape. “At least, in his estimation. See, he’s not a person, and you’re not a person, and your echoes were due to blink into irrelevance about a million years ago, give or take, based on the standard fade-out cycle. But you’re keeping each other around somehow. It’s impressive, really! But I’m biased, of course.” 

“I don’t have to sit here listening to this,” Mike said, though he couldn’t muster the energy to stand. He felt as if a massive weight had been dumped onto his shoulders. The precise size and shape of this weight felt familiar. Still, he attempted to throw it off. “This is just some-- Some hipster cafe philosophical bullshit.” 

“Ha!” Rich said. “You think I’m a hipster? Look at me, Mike. I’m an effortless elemental. The polar opposite of a hipster.” 

“Oh yeah? If you’re some kinda magical space warlock, how come I can do this?”

Mike reached across the table to poke Rich in the back of his hand. It felt just like a normal human hand of that size and girth: warm and springy, a little oily. 

“Pssh, see?” Mike said. “You’re not some mystical creature. I have eyes, buddy. And these.” He lifted his hands and wiggled his fingers. “I know what’s fuckin’ real.” 

“Of course this is real to you! You’re generating it, somehow, in tandem with the other one. We’ve been studying the phenomenon since around the time your echoes faded from relevancy, but none of the tools we know of have been able to explain it. In fact, the study’s been abandoned for about eight thousand years. And yet, here we all are, still going strong! Congratulations to us. Have a curly fry.” 

“I don’t want your fucking curly fries!” 

Mike stood, felt weak and sat again. He ran his hands through his hair and was glad, despite everything, to find all of it still there. 

“It’s a lot to take in,” Rich said. “Curly fries might help.”

“So I was a person,” Mike said, attempting to at least suss out this demon’s story. He’d worry about believing it or not later. “And I died. On Earth.”

“No! Wrong. You were never a person. There was a person whose image you represented via shared cultural memory, which is a very tricky thing, particularly considering his own culture found his work novel at best. Meanwhile, centuries later, it was discovered by, shall we say, from your origin’s perspective, an alien civilization, and they considered it to be the lost key that was needed to understand the tragic mystery of mankind’s rise and fall. Therefore, it made sense that your origin’s echo would be extremely strong, at least while that alien culture and those in contact with it continued to value the original content that your echo persona represents. You’ve well outlasted that interest now, however. You’re an enduring metaphysical curiosity! And I’m your spiritual guide through the experience, if you will.” 

“I thought you said you were my--” Mike winced. “Son.”

“Only in a manner of speaking. Don’t you see the resemblance?” Rich made a sarcastic cheerful face and held out his hands. “Eh? Pops? I’m a combination of you and Jay!”

“Ew! God, no! You’re not!” 

“Fine, be an asshole about it. You’re only insulting your own echo likeness. Which is pretty fucking accurate, trust me. I went back in time and lived out most of my days on Earth alongside the person you’re echoing, so I’d know.” 

Mike stood, unable to take this anymore. This time his legs were functional enough to get him moving toward the coffee shop door. 

“Take some time to think about it!” Rich said. “Talk to Jay, or don’t. If it helps, I can haul out the old whiteboard and dry erase markers and try to break it down for you in chronological order. Three-dimensionally speaking, of course. In all these millions of years, you guys have never gotten the hang of thinking outside of _that_ box.” 

Mike ignored Rich and glared at the Wizard, who was still behind the counter looking sulky. 

“Do you want an apple juice or something?” the Wizard asked. “Some sparkling water?”

“I hate you,” Mike said, and this time he meant it.

“Aw,” the Wizard said. “Okay, then.” 

“Oh, and Mike!” Rich turned in his chair. It seemed to take some effort, which didn’t make much sense, if he was really some kind of time-traveling demon. “Be careful with how you approach this information in the coming days, all right? This realm can get a little-- Unstable, when you and Jay are going through your freaking out about your self-awareness cycle.” 

“You keep his name outta your mouth!” Mike said, pointing a threatening finger at Rich. “We don’t need you or your goddamn whiteboard. Goodbye forever!”

The cold outside felt surprising, as if Rich’s wild claims should have altered the temperature. But of course they couldn’t: that guy was just some bum running a con. There was no telling what was in those curly fries. 

Mike clung to this theory all the way to the VCR repair shop. As Jay had promised, the CLOSED FOR REPAIRS sign was still taped inside the front door, and the padlock was still in place. Mike yanked at the lock in a futile rage, cursing under his breath. He thought of kicking the door, but it seemed pointless. Instead, he swallowed down a kind of angry whimper of terror and hurried home, concerned about Jay. Everything that was happening, whatever it was, seemed like something they should be united against. 

The sky clouded over as Mike made his way home, and some snowflakes were trickling down by the time he reached the apartment building. He hurried up the stairs and was alarmed to find their apartment door not only unlocked but just slightly ajar, voices coming from within. 

“I don’t know about that,” someone inside who wasn’t Jay was saying when Mike put his ear to the cracked-open door. “Maybe it was the Northern Lights?” 

“But it was daytime,” Jay said. “And Mike pretended not to see it. Now suddenly he gives a shit? He never gets up this early, not even when we have to work! He’s up to something.” 

“ _You’re_ up to something!” Mike said, roaring this as he burst in through the door. “Ah-ha! Caught red-handed! Who the fuck is this? The milkman? Typical!” 

Jay and the milkman were seated at the kitchen table, having coffee. The milkman appeared terrified by Mike’s entry, and had frozen in a kind of exaggerated posture of defensive surprise. He was very lanky and somewhat clown-like, so under different circumstances this may have been amusing. Jay just looked annoyed. 

“See?” Jay said, addressing the milkman. “He’s being weird as fuck.” 

“Guys,” the milkman said, standing. “Let’s try to chill out a little bit. We’re all friends here.” 

“Like hell we are,” Mike said. “I don’t even know your name, peasant.”

“Mike, we’ve known each other for years.” The milkman pointed to the name tag on the front of his all-white uniform: JACK. “What’s going on, buddy? Something got you down recently?”

“Get out!” Mike shouted, pointing to the door. “I have serious shit to discuss with my friend.”

Jay was glaring at Mike. He did not look particularly amenable to any sort of discussion, let alone a bombshell about aliens and the apocalypse, or whatever Mike was supposed to have learned from Rich’s cheesesteak-scented monologue. Jay had bags under his eyes that were probably hangover-related, but otherwise he was perfectly groomed, maybe because he was entertaining the fucking milkman. 

“Why are you always ordering people to leave?” Jay asked. “What are you afraid I’ll find out? Huh, Mike? If that is your real name?” 

“Yeahhh, I don’t really want to be here for this,” Jack said, slinking toward the door. “Bye!”

He bolted out of their apartment and down the hallway. Mike kicked the door shut behind him. 

“Why do we even have a milkman?” he asked, concerned that this was another bad sign about the fundamental wrongness of something or other. “What is this, 1950?”

“It’s Wisconsin,” Jay said, still glaring at him. “We’re very serious about dairy. You’d know that, if you weren’t some kind body-snatched imposter of my best friend.” 

Mike opened his mouth to argue that he was not an imposter, but before he could he noticed a new weight around his midsection and looked down.

“Fuck!” he shouted, grabbing his again-hefty stomach. He looked up at Jay, glowering. “What did you do?”

“Huh?” Jay said. 

Mike dashed into the bathroom, not as quickly as he might have liked. He was winded when he got there, and livid when he saw that he was middle-aged again, overweight and graying. 

“Jay!” Mike shouted, resisting the urge to smash his fist into the mirror.

“What!” 

“ _What have you done to me_??”

Mike lurched out of the bathroom with a growl. Jay walked into the living room, now looking more confused than angry. 

“I haven’t done anything,” Jay said. “Are you losing your mind?”

“Clearly something has changed!” Mike pointed to his face with one hand and grabbed his now-sizable gut with the other. “And it was implied by someone I spoke to today that you might be the one responsible for this-- Inconsistency!” 

“What the hell are you talking about? I have no clue why you’re, uhh. Old again. You just walked in here looking like that.” 

“Yeah, because you-- Because you’re pissed off at me!” 

“So what? I don’t have the power to alter your appearance.” 

“I’m thinking maybe you do, Jay! I’m thinking this makes some kinda sense!” 

It didn’t, actually, except that Rich had said Mike must be ‘looking well’ because he’d been sweet-talking Jay recently. As loath as he was to admit it, there was something in Mike that found this reasoning cogent, also familiar. 

“Who were you talking to about this?” Jay asked, eyes narrowing. 

“He goes by Rich.” 

“The heating repair guy?”

“No! Well, yeah. But he’s actually, like, some kind of alien demigod. Or our star child. Or both.”

“What the hell is a star child?”

“Oh, now you’re gonna act like you’ve never seen _2001_? We watched it together, Jay! Like five hundred times!” 

Mike glared as hard as he could, trying to get back at Jay for this sudden appearance change by reducing Jay to his younger, awkward, bowl cut self. Surely Mike’s annoyance with Jay also counted for something, at least enough to return Jay to his days of Amish mutton chops or a beer gut that would protrude from the hem of that tight t-shirt.

“What are you doing?” Jay asked, nose wrinkling. Otherwise he still looked perfect, the fucker. “Are you okay?”

“I’m trying to give you a taste of your own appearance-projecting medicine.” 

“Mike.” Now Jay looked frightened, but for Mike rather than of him. “Are you on drugs?”

“No, Jay. I’m not on drugs.” Mike sniffed and pulled his shirt down over his gut. “I guess I just _love you_ too much to see you as anything but _perfect_.” 

This had sounded like a sick burn in his head, proof that he was a good person and Jay was a vindictive asshole. Out loud, however, it sounded different. 

“What?” Jay said. He was turning red, at least. 

“Shut up! Nothing!”

Mike hurried into their bedroom and slammed the door behind him. He was aware that he was acting like an idiot, but he had no idea how else to process the many horrors of the morning. It wasn’t even noon yet, and he was confronting realities that he’d spent who knew how long avoiding. His impulse was to drink a beer, then another, but the time for that had passed.

He went to the window and searched for any signs of neighborhood instability. At first all he saw was a light dusting of snow fluttering down, and all the usual surroundings unchanged by the turmoil inside their apartment. As he began to turn away, something caught his eye and made him look again. 

It was just a distant black dot in the sky at first, then another one appeared, and another. They were birds, large ones, flying in lazy swoops toward the apartment building. When one perched on the roof of the building in the lot across from his window, Mike could see these weren’t three large crows, as he’d originally suspected. They were vultures, the first one soon joined by its two friends, all three of them perched with a kind of leisurely purpose and seeming to look directly at him.

Mike pulled the curtains shut and fell backward onto the bed. He’d seen turkey vultures before, but couldn’t remember them flying into town as if they were on a mission. He was also pretty sure he’d never had one look him directly in the eye like that. He had a supremely bad feeling, even when he stretched out on his back in bed and reached down to confirm that his stomach had shrunk again. He touched his hair and found it mostly restored, too. Jay must have stopped being mad at him, possibly because of that comment about love or whatever.

He thought back to some of the other things Rich had told him in the cafe. If he wasn’t lying, they weren’t on Earth. Humanity was over, but they were still playing their phony lives out here, like an old film looping in a locked up room. That didn’t seem entirely right, but it had a kind of ring to it at the same time, like the concept of Jay’s feelings toward him altering his appearance. 

He closed his eyes and tried to remember his family, the house where he grew up, the name of his high school. This did the trick, as it had in the past: the whole building shook, and he heard glass breaking out in the apartment, Jay shouting in surprise. 

Mike opened his eyes and thought instead about the last time they watched _2001_ together here in the apartment, and before that, in the VCR repair shop during a slow day. Jay had talked over half the movie both times, and every time they’d watched it together before that, but Mike hadn’t cared. He’d seen it hundreds of times, and the whole point of rewatching it was getting Jay to talk about it, maybe.

The building stopped shaking. Mike could hear vulture sounds from outside, low-pitched outbursts like cackling. It sounded like those things out there were saying: hey, no skin off our asses. We can wait. 

He sat up with a groan when Jay knocked on the bedroom door.

“You don’t have to knock!” Mike said. “It’s your room, too.” 

Jay came in looking irritated, also frightened. Mike lifted his arms and held them open. 

“Not now,” Jay said. “You have to come out here, please. Mr. Plinkett is at the door.” 

“Mr. Plinkett?”

“Yeah. And he’s got a rolling whiteboard with him. He says he’s here to lecture us about galactic history and humankind’s embarrassing legacy.” 

“Oh, god.”

“Why don’t you seem that surprised? Mike, what the hell is going on?”

“Come on,” Mike said. He got out of bed and nudged Jay backward, out of the room. “We have to face the music.” 

“What music? You actually want me to let him in?”

“I’m already inside!” Mr. Plinkett said, shouting this from the kitchen. 

Mike groaned. Even from where they stood he could hear that it was actually Rich doing the Mr. Plinkett voice. 

“Suddenly a lot of things make sense,” Mike said. 

“Not from where I’m standing!” Jay said.

“C’mon, then. Let’s go get lectured.” 

“Mike!” 

Jay grabbed Mike’s arm and held him in place. Mike tried to imagine what would happen if they jumped out the second floor window, made a break for the lot where their car was parked and just booked it like bats out of hell in the opposite direction of this whole thing. The trouble was, he didn’t think they’d get very far without doing something about those vultures and whatever else might try to stop them, and he wasn’t sure how they’d do that without being lectured by Rich first. He patted Jay’s hand, which was still clenched around his arm. 

“Don’t worry,” Mike said, whispering. “I have a plan.” 

“Yeah?”

Mike actually did not, but he nodded, slung his arm around Jay’s shoulders, and lead him toward Mr. Plinkett.  


	4. Chapter 4

Mr. Plinkett, who was actually Rich in an old man costume and sporting a cane, had set up his whiteboard in the kitchen. He was drawing circles on it with a dry erase marker when Mike entered and took a seat at the table, motioning for Jay to sit in the chair beside him. Jay gave Mike a wary look but played along. 

“Is the Plinkett get-up really necessary?” Mike asked. 

“Trust me,” Rich said, still doing the Mr. Plinkett voice. “This always goes better when I’m him.” 

“When he’s who?” Jay asked, looking to Mike for an answer. “Mike. Why is Mr. Plinkett in our house? And how’d he get that whiteboard up the stairs?”

“Uh, I dunno,” Mike said. He resolved to think of Rich as Mr. Plinkett for the time being, for Jay’s sake. “Let’s just see what he has to say.” 

Jay made a face of mild disgust but didn’t otherwise protest. He sighed and looked toward the whiteboard, where Mr. Plinkett had labeled one of his circles EARTH.

“All right, boys,” Mr. Plinkett said. He planted his cane on the floor and settled both hands over it. “Let’s get started, shall we? To begin, I’ll ask you this. Remember Earth??”

He pointed at the circle labeled EARTH, to demonstrate.

“What do you mean ‘remember’?” Jay asked. “We’re on Earth. This is it.” 

“Well, young man, what I’m mostly here to tell you is that actually you’re not, and it isn’t.” 

“Mike!” Jay said, leaning over to whisper this urgently. “Why are we humoring this old codger? He’s clearly nuts!”

“Just go with it,” Mike whispered back. “Follow my lead. Trust me.”

Jay groaned and sat back in his chair, folded his arms over his chest. “Fine,” he said flatly, staring at Mr. Plinkett. “If we’re not on Earth, where are we?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First we’re gonna focus on _when_ are we, approximately. You see, Earth existed a long time ago, and during the years when it was able to support life, humankind came into being and, for a time, flourished--”

“I don’t think we need to get this basic!” Mike said. “We know what the fuck Earth and humans are.” 

“Mhmm, do you, though? Anyway, once upon a time, there were two humans born in the late 1970s and early 1980s, respectively. They eventually became friends and made a very minor impact on their own civilization by critiquing media trends during their lifetimes. Those humans were your originals, see?”

Mr. Plinkett smacked the whiteboard with the end of his cane and an image appeared in the center of it: a picture of Mike and Jay seated behind the counter in the VCR repair shop, only the lighting was off and something else was off, too. 

“Yeah, that’s us,” Jay said, unimpressed. 

“Nope.” Mr. Plinkett smacked the whiteboard again and the image disappeared. “Those were two people who lived a long time ago. Like, mortals, ya dig? Their whole species has come and gone at this point, and there was very little interest in the galaxy about humankind generally until a particular scholar on what we’ll call Planet Alpha popularized the idea that other more advanced civilizations could actually learn something from the fate of humans.” 

Mike snorted. “Planet Alpha?” 

“Look, the planet in question doesn’t exactly use your alphabet, so that’s the closest we’re gonna get to its real name, all right? The name of the goddamn planet is irrelevant, anyway. The point is, in investigating the history of humanity, this scholar and others who took an interest in the subject poured over all kinds of media content, including the stuff made by your originals.” 

“Oh my god,” Jay said. “Are you saying we’re _clones_?”

“No! Jesus christ, cloning is to modern technology what digging a hole in the ground to shit in was to humanity. You’re way more impressive than that. You’re the longest-existing cultural echoes in recorded galactic history!” 

“How’d anybody see this old media content if Earth was gone?” Mike asked. He’d heard all this before, he remembered now, but he’d also always gotten the impression that Rich was still hiding something from them. There was a weak point in his story somewhere.

Mr. Plinkett groaned. “Oh, fuck, do you really want to get technical? Look, for reasons you can’t possibly understand with your limited human-based consciousnesses, anything that was ever uploaded to your ‘internet’”-- He raised both hands to make scare quotes with his fingers-- “Is archived forever in a galactic depository of media.” 

Mike glanced at Jay and could see that this had given him a deep sense of dread, too. He couldn’t even say where his own came from. It just felt like bad news. 

“See, that makes you echoes panic a little!” Mr. Plinkett said, grinning when saw their stricken expressions. “Because you’re comprised of everything that anyone who ever viewed some or all of your originals’ uploaded output saw of them. And that’s what you are: factually obscured cultural echoes from a particular subsection of language-using civilizations who were once exposed to a now-defunct critical theory of media. Your originals’ work eventually became well known even outside of the academic community that unearthed it from the archive, because those academics made a convincing argument that it was the most revelatory human media output ever produced. So. Congratulations! Sorta.”

Mike glanced over at Jay. He was pale, and had his hands gripped tightly over both his knees. He also looked skeptical. 

“But we’re from Milwaukee,” Jay said, weakly.

“No, they were!” Mr. Plinkett smacked the spot on the whiteboard where the VCR repair shop image had appeared. “And because they were, you occupy a transient reality that resembles their fictionalized version of Milwaukee. Or it should have been transient, anyway, because it was generated by the imaginations of all these beings who encountered your media in the past. But you’ve fallen out of fashion, I’m afraid. Galactic academia moves ever forward, and popular theories of meaning are fickle. Still, you two echoes maintain this reality, seemingly just for yourselves. Or for each other, I guess.”

Mike looked at Jay again. He was less pale now, more greenish. From the window over their kitchen sink, Mike could see shit going haywire outside: random colors flashing through the sky, menacing shadows darting past, and a frog that smacked against the glass before falling into the alley below, leaving a bloody splatter mark that quickly disappeared. 

“You’d better tell him everything’s gonna be all right,” Mr. Plinkett said. He was speaking to Mike, pointing the end of his cane at Jay. “Or shit’s gonna get real messy, real fast. This realm is pretty hardy, like I said, but whenever he pulls at the seams I can’t hold it together by myself.”

“Hey, look at me,” Mike said. He grabbed Jay’s shoulder and squeezed until Jay did as he asked. When their eyes met, it stopped raining frogs outside. “Everything’s fine. This is good news, if you think about it. We’re immortal, for one! Right?” He cut Mr. Plinkett a look. 

“Weeeeelll,” Mr. Plinkett said, lifting his shoulders. 

Mike glared at him.

“For now, yes,” Mr. Plinkett said. “As long as you two don’t fuck this place up. I do what I can to maintain the status quo, but I only have certain powers here.” 

“It’s okay,” Jay said, mumbling. He pushed Mike’s hand off his shoulder. “This is, uh. I sort of remember all this. We’ve been over it before, I think?”

He looked to Mike for confirmation. It was heartbreaking, that look, but Mike wasn’t in the mood to lie. He nodded. 

“What about you?” Mike asked, whirling back to Mr. Plinkett. “You said you time-traveled, to save our legacy. Remind me about that.” 

Mr. Plinkett sighed and took off his hat and sunglasses, transforming back into Rich.

“Yeah, that,” Rich said. “That’s always the hardest thing for you two to wrap your minds around.” 

“Do we even have minds?” Jay asked. He was staring into the middle distance at nothing in particular, gripping the seat of his chair with both hands. “Or are we just, like, someone else’s memory?”

“You’re the memory of so many people that you’ve solidified into your own autonomous consciousness-bearing entities,” Rich said. “That’s how it works, with important echoes. Only you two are also unique, like I explained.” 

“Where does you time-traveling come in?” Mike asked, not allowing him to change the subject.

“I have to be careful about what I disclose about this,” Rich said, and he leaned toward them to whisper. “There are powerful forces at work here. Wouldn’t want to throw the switch on this whole realm by saying the wrong thing, you get me?”

“What powerful forces?” Mike asked. 

“Can’t answer that.” 

“Why not?”

“I literally just told you. It could upset the solidity of this whole place and all of us within it. You see--” Rich looked left and then right, as if someone might have appeared to overhear this. Outside, the sky had returned to a pale grey that was either some kind of error message screen or the usual late morning cloud cover. “I was sent back in time by a very powerful entity in order to preserve your cultural contribution to the galaxy,” Rich said, whispering again. “And I did so, successfully. But the entity who wanted it destroyed is still out there, and I can’t go back in time again to protect it a second time, for reasons I won’t get into right now.” 

“Who wanted to destroy--”

“Don’t even ask that!” Rich frowned and stood up straight again, his hands still resting on top of the Plinkett cane. “Trust me, the last thing you want to do, especially in an unstable cycle, is go poking at that bear. Jesus, even I’m afraid of doing that. And I was a fucking god! Once,” he added, muttering this bitterly. 

“Uhh,” Mike said. He glanced over at Jay, who had gone silent and taken on a greyish pallor. “Maybe that’s enough for today. Except, wait. One more thing. You met the versions of us who lived on Earth? The originals?”

“Sure did.” Rich’s bitter countenance was gone in a blink. He smiled at Mike and Jay with something like fondness. “Spent my first sixteen years on Earth getting acclimated to being temporarily human, and the rest of my time there was with them, shepherding the precious insights that would someday illuminate the galactic understanding of humankind and its plight.” 

“What insights?” Mike asked. Somehow it felt like they had never gone over that part. Possibly he’d just forgotten. 

“Ehh, it’s hard to summarize. Suffice to say, you were unique back then, too. I had my doubts, when I was sent on that mission to befriend you and oversee your development, but you won me over pretty quick. I mean, they did.” 

“Were they exactly like us?” Jay asked. 

“Oh, hell no. They were, you know. Actual people.” 

“What does that mean?” Mike asked, sneering. “How were they different?”

“No one can be told what a mortal is, Mike. You have to meet one yourself to understand. And I don’t mean in general. You have to meet each individual one in person and spend a lot of time around them. Only then can you really know them.” 

“Yeah, sure. But how were they different from us?”

“In millions of ways! Okay, maybe just hundreds. Look.” Rich pointed to the window. It was suddenly pitch black outside in an alarming, matte-like way. “Don’t fuck with these kinds of questions, okay? It upsets everything that works about this place. Plus, it’s not half as interesting as you’re imagining.”

“What’s not?”

“The mundane details of a human life! Hey, you gonna do anything about that?”

Rich nodded to Jay, who had leaned over to put his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. 

“Jesus,” Mike muttered. He waved Rich toward the door with one hand and put the other on top of Jay’s head. The window went pale-gray again, and when a vulture flew past Mike could see that the sky had been restored to normal out there. It was even starting to snow a little. 

“We’ll continue this tomorrow,” Rich said. He pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of Plinkett’s sport coat and wiped the dry erase board clear. “Boy, we didn’t get very far,” he said, mumbling. “But then, we usually don’t. You two are not the most patient students.” 

“That’s ‘cause we already know all this shit!” Mike said. “I mean, deep down. I think.”

“Yeah, true. So long, fellas. Take it easy for the rest of the day, okay? Recalibrate a bit. Do something relaxing.” 

Rich left, and Mike sat there with his hand on top of Jay’s head, listening to the whiteboard rolling down the hallway outside. When Jay sat up, Mike tried not to stare at him too expectantly, not sure what to do next. In some respects, he was relieved. The sky outside was still dull gray, and the chair under his ass still felt solid. Jay looked depressed, but that was okay. Mike was basically a professional when it came to cheering him up. 

“Want to get a six pack?” he asked when Jay finally looked over at him. 

“Not really,” Jay said. “My stomach hurts. Wait.” He put his hand over his gut, which was still in its trim, ideal form. Mike couldn’t remember Jay’s appearance ever changing in this realm, at least not the way his own did. All his memories of Jay looking different were inherited from those old videos. “Do we even have stomachs?” Jay asked. “Like, what is this that I’m touching?” 

“Uhh,” Mike said. “It’s like Rich said. We were so well-thought of that we grew bodies in space in the future.”

“That’s not exactly what he said.” 

“Well, okay. The people whose memories we represent were so well-thought of, or remembered, or important, whatever. Do you want some leftover lasagna?”

“No! I feel like I’m gonna puke.” 

“That’s just proof that you do have a stomach. I’ve totally seen you puke before.” Mike frowned and thought about it again. Maybe that was actually some video-generated memory and not something they’d done in this realm. He shrugged and stood, glad to see that Jay’s distress hadn’t affected his appearance, at least not weight-wise. “I’m starving,” he said, and it was true. “I bet once you smell this lasagna reheating you’ll want some, too.” 

“Do we even need to eat? What would happen if we stopped? Would we starve? Would it even matter?”

“Jay,” Mike said. An empty beer bottle on the counter was starting to rattle as if it might pitch itself against the opposite wall any moment. “Let’s worry about it later, okay?”

“I feel like you’ve been saying that for about two million years!”

“So what if I have? Time is a flat circle, Jay!”

“It’s pretty clearly not, Mike! And you can’t just quote True Detective and expect me to think you’re saying something profound. The truth is fucking out, man! We’re just looping aggregations of Earth media!”

“Stop yelling at me!” Mike was standing at the open fridge, holding the foil-covered tray of leftover lasagna. “You’re not the one who yells! I am!”

Jay leapt out of his chair and picked up the beer bottle that was now rattling violently. He threw it against the wall himself, shattering it. 

“And I’m the one who does that, too!” Mike said, feeling pathetic. 

Jay stormed out of the kitchen without looking at Mike, went into the bedroom and slammed the door behind him. 

“It’s not like I’ve got you trapped here!” Mike shouted, still holding the lasagna. “Not everything is my fault, goddammit!”

He was tempted to throw the lasagna at the wall to upstage Jay’s beer bottle tantrum, but he really did want to eat a piece. He couldn’t summon the energy to do so just yet, however, and put it back in the fridge. 

Mike paced around the apartment. He stared at the closed bedroom door, beginning to fear he didn’t have it in him to fix things again. Was it always Jay who threatened to unsteady their world with his angst? Rich had said Jay was the one who ‘pulled at the seams.’ Where were the seams? Why didn’t Mike ever pull at them? He wasn’t a coward, he was sure of it. He just didn’t want to pull at something only to look down and find himself unraveling. 

He went to the bathroom mirror to check his reflection and found himself looking pretty good, maybe about twenty-eight. Why did it matter? It just did, like certain other things here, because he had decided they should. Or maybe Jay had decided. Mike tried not to think too much about the videos. He hadn’t ever actually watched them, wasn’t sure that would even be possible, but they were lurking there in his subconscious when he needed reference points, foggily comprising a subset of memories that were separate from all the movies and TV he’d seen. Only that wasn’t right, exactly: the memories of the videos were actually the collective memories of other people, and they comprised _him_ , or once had--

Mike shook off this thought process when the mirror started making a sound like ice under heavy pressure, threatening to crack. He left the bathroom and walked into the bedroom without knocking. Jay was sitting on the bed, reading from his phone. He’d left the curtains shut. Mike could tell without looking that those vultures were still out there. He wanted to ask Jay what he thought about them, but now was not the time. He closed the bedroom door behind him, as if there was anyone else around to keep out. 

“Whatcha reading?” Mike asked, lingering near the door. 

“Nothing,” Jay muttered. “Just trying to figure out what network this phone is even connected to.”

“All the archived knowledge in the galaxy, I think. Like, remember all those lasagna recipes?” 

Jay groaned and tossed the phone onto the bedstand, upsetting several empty beer bottles in the process. He stretched out on his back and folded his hands over his stomach. With his phone’s screen turned off, the only light in the room was from the greyish glow around the edges of the curtains. 

“I still think the real me, or whatever you’d call it, was very tidy,” Jay said. “I should clean this place up.” 

“But you don’t have to be like him if you don’t want to be,” Mike said. “That’s the beauty part.” 

“No, it’s not, and yes, I do!”

“How come?”

Jay put his hands over his face and groaned. “Don’t be intentionally obtuse,” he said. 

But that’s just what I do, Mike thought, and he knew this was coming from someplace real-ish, a kind of an established and unchangeable sense of how things should be, even if they sometimes weren’t that way. So he understood what Jay meant.

“Can I show you something?” Mike asked.

“What.” 

“I can’t explain it, I just have to demonstrate.” 

Jay took his hands away from his face. 

“Go ahead,” he said.

He moved over to make room for Mike, who had gotten into this bed a lot of times: sober, drunk, despairing, giddy, bored, exhausted, impatient, begging, gloating, and because he had something to prove to the only person left in the universe whose opinion mattered. He flopped onto the mattress heavily, needing to communicate the full weight of himself that existed here, even if he might be weightless and invisible elsewhere. 

“You know what Rich is always getting at in these explanations, but never saying?” Mike asked.

“What?” 

“We’re some kind of amorphous media-based phenomenon, blah blah, but the reason we’re still around at all, and the reason he even gives a shit, is that we have souls, Jay. Real ones.” 

Mike had thought this before but was pretty sure he’d never vocalized it. Jay rolled over to face him. 

“I never wanted to be immortal,” Jay said. “It kinda blows.” 

“Yeah,” Mike said, though he didn’t agree and was wounded by this. “But if you have to be immortal, aren’t you glad I’m here, too? Eh?” He gave Jay a few pokes in his ribs so he wouldn’t seem too serious, even though he was. “Who else would be such excellent company?”

Jay grinned. Even in the near-dark, Mike could tell that his amusement was authentic, not just one of those times when Jay acted like his jokes were funnier than they really were out of some warped kindness that Mike longed to interpret as love. 

“I’m real,” Mike said. He put his hand on Jay’s cheek, where his skin was flushed, and moved his thumb down to feel for Jay’s pulse. It was quicker than Mike had expected, racing. “And so are you.” 

“Yeah,” Jay said. He inched closer, like he wanted to squirm into the shelter of Mike’s certainty. “Fuck that fake Mr. Plinkett with his stupid whiteboard. I know what it’s like to be human.”

“Me too. It’s like this.”

“Exactly. Like this.” 

And then they kissed, to prove it.


	5. Chapter 5

Things were a little awkward in the morning. If they’d ever done anything completely on their own, as themselves rather than as somebody’s echoes, this was it, and not having a script left them both feeling clumsy and insecure when they skirted around each other in the light of day. 

At some point during the night, still shameless, Mike had asked Jay to wear his fleece-lined lumberjack hat with the ear flaps. Jay had laughed at him and turned red, but he put the hat on when Mike brought it to him. He was still wearing it at breakfast, which was maybe a good sign. They ate bowls of cereal together in silence at the kitchen table. Snow was coming down hard outside, blanking most of their view from the kitchen window out with white. 

“Looks like a storm’s coming,” Mike said. “Have we got enough milk?”

“Enough for what?” Jay asked. 

“Uhh. Surviving until the storm ends?”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine.” Jay wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood to take his bowl to the sink. “I’d better go for a jog while I still can,” he said. 

“While you still can?”

“Before the snow really starts to pile up.” Jay dropped his rinsed-out bowl into the sink and turned to give Mike an uncertain smile. “If we’re gonna be cooped up here for a few days, I’d better get some exercise in first.” 

“Oh.” 

This seemed like a bad sign, even with Jay still wearing the lumberjack hat. Mike had said quite a lot the night before about how much he liked the way it looked on him. It was embarrassing, in hindsight.

Jay went into the bedroom to change and emerged wearing his jogging sweats. He still had the hat on, but at the front door he swapped it out with a beanie made from some special moisture-wicking material. This was Mike’s least favorite look on him. Suddenly it felt like it had been much too long since he’d seen Jay in his VCR repair shop shirt. 

“I’ll be right back,” Jay said, turning toward the kitchen with his hand on the door knob. 

“I know you will,” Mike said, though saying so made him suddenly not so sure. He didn’t appreciate the look Jay was giving him, which was sort of pitying. “Go, if you’re gonna!” Mike said, irritated. “Storm’s only gonna get worse.”  

Jay left, and Mike stared down at his mostly empty bowl of cereal, a few soggy Cinnamon Toast Crunch pieces left floating in sugary milk. He listened to Jay’s footsteps until he couldn’t hear them anymore, and then allowed himself to think about the stuttery way Jay had said his name last night, like it had three syllables.

When he heard footsteps approaching the apartment again, they were plodding and unhurried, definitely not Jay’s. He was almost glad when he opened the door to find Rich lifting his fist to knock. Mike had a lot more questions that needed answering, and it would be easier without Jay there to take everything so personally. 

“Ah, you’re awake!” Rich said. He invited himself inside, shouldering past Mike to drop a bag of donuts on the table. “I brought a little offering,” he said, and he craned his neck to peer into the living room. “Where’s the other one?”

“He’s jogging. Why do you call him that?”

“Huh?”

“Jay. Why do you call him ‘the other one’?”

“Oh, I dunno. I guess I still think of your originals by those names first and foremost, and you guys are something else. So, how’s it going?”

“Uhh.” Mike sat down and rifled through the bag of donuts, though he wasn’t hungry. “I’m not sure. What’s up with this storm?”

“It’s winter in Milwaukee-ish-land. Snow storms are normal.” 

“So it’s not some dangerous aberration that’s happening because of, like. Something we did?”

“Something you did?” Rich was digging around in their kitchen cabinets. He located the Packers cup and went to the fridge to help himself to some milk. “What did you do, exactly?” 

Mike scoffed. He wasn’t going to describe it _exactly_ , and felt like Rich should already know, if he really was some kind of powerful ex-god. 

“Things, okay?” Mike said, glaring at Rich when he turned. “Various things, last night. It’s private.”

“What, you had sex?” Rich shrugged and drank from his milk. “Big deal!” he said, and he wiped his milk mustache away. “Is your memory still on the fritz? You two have married each other about eight hundred times in this realm.” 

“Married-- What? We have not!” 

“Have so! Why do you think you share a bed?”

“No, but-- Why. Would we do that, what?”

“I dunno, you wanted to! And you have my blessing, naturally. Hell, if anything it makes this place more stable.”

“What-- Hang on.” Mike closed his eyes and tried to focus, both hands lifted in Rich’s direction in a halting gesture. “You’re lying to me. This, last night-- All that shit felt new.”

“Ah, sure.” Rich sat down at the table and grabbed for the donut bag. “That’s because it’s your own thing, not part of some pattern of behavior you inherited from the originating media. But really, it’s my fault.” 

“Your fault.” 

“Yeah, you heard of Cupid?”

Mike could not muster a serious response. He sat watching as Rich pulled a sizable cruller from the donut bag, licked his lips and took a huge bite of it. 

“Cupid,” Mike said when Rich just stared at him, chewing. 

“That’s right. That’s me! Or, it was.”

“Like. The little cherub thing with the bow and arrows.”

“Eh, that’s one culture’s version of me. I’ve been depicted in many ways throughout the galaxy. You’re talking to someone who’s been around since the beginning of time, kid. You might say I was a god, if we were using your pitifully basic language. Which, I guess we are.”

“You’re sitting here in my kitchen eating a donut,” Mike said, “Telling me you’re a god.” 

“Was, Mike! _Was_ a god. Going back in time to manifest as a mortal ain’t a job for any old schmuck. You need an ancient elemental entity with big league powers.” Rich wiped sugar off his lips and pointed his thumb at his chest. “That was me. You’re welcome!”

“But why would a god-thing bother with us? We were really that important?”

“Weeeeelll, let’s just say it wasn’t entirely my decision.” 

“What wasn’t?”

“Going back, saving you, the whole endeavor. I had an assignment from a higher-up.” 

“From, like. The main god? Zeus?”

Rich threw his head back and laughed hard, high-pitched and unhinged. It went on for a while. 

“No, jesus!” Rich said. He laughed again. “No pun intended. There’s a massive creative force out there in the universe somewhere, but it doesn’t, like, talk to us or give orders, or give a shit what happens to anybody. It’s just some energy. Nobody fuckin’ communes with it.” 

“Great, thanks for telling me. So who gave you this order--”

Rich slammed his fist on the table to shut Mike up. 

“I just told you yesterday! Don’t ask me that! It’s dangerous. Especially with the other one-- Where is he, exactly?”

“Jay’s out jogging, I told you.”

Rich made a face and reared backward. “Why?”

“I don’t know, why are you always eating?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know that eating is one of the best parts of being human,” Rich said, wagging his half-finished donut at Mike. 

“Yesterday you told me I don’t know shit about being human.” 

“Well, yeah, neither you nor I are actually human. But, you know. We exist within a framework of what people once conceived humanity to be. Hence our ability to eat. And your ability to have sex!” 

Mike didn’t want his ability to have sex ascribed to any outside forces. He flattened his hands onto the tabletop and leaned toward Rich, eyes narrowing. 

“Tell me more about this Cupid shit.” 

Rich sighed. “Well, let’s see. I’m not a god anymore, got demoted to demon, but I’m not here to hurt you, don’t worry. Demons got a bad rap in human mythology, got all mixed up in a bunch of religious crap, but that’s another story. In rescuing your legacy I inadvertently created this realm, and naturally the two free will-having manifestations within it are going to gravitate toward each other. Like, in bed. And marriage. I’m still a Cupid at heart, so it’s just inevitable. Sorry! Anyway, that’s how I’ve always explained it to myself. The echoes themselves might have something to do with it, if content consumers projected some kind of unresolved pining onto you. Human sexuality and relationships were pretty misunderstood even after the illuminating discovery of your originals’ work.” 

“But you were human, for a while,” Mike said, wanting the whiteboard back so he could draw out a timeline. 

“Sure was!” Rich finished his donut and went rooting around in the bag for another one. “Boy, what a trip. It was a constant pain in the ass, but also sorta the greatest time of my life.” 

“Why’d you get demoted, if your mission was a success?”

Rich glanced up from the donuts and then quickly back down again.

“That’s a long story,” he said. “I’ll tell you some other time, when it’s safer.”

At the mention of safety, Mike turned toward the apartment’s door. They had no clock in the kitchen, so he wasn’t sure how long Jay had been gone. He shifted in his chair and bounced his heel against the floor, weighing the importance of the other questions he had. 

“If you’re worried about the authenticity of your feelings,” Rich said, “I’ll remind you that I’ve officiated eight hundred and some-odd wedding ceremonies for the two of you, upon request. So wherever your affection for the other one comes from, it’s consistent and enduring.” 

“What?” Mike snapped. “No, I’m not-- Shut up. That doesn’t seem right.” 

“Right or not, it happened!”

“Why would we need to get married? I mean, why would we even want to?”

“Don’t look at me. I’ve always assumed it was some kinda nod to this long and drawn-out sequence in your originals’ videos.” 

“Can we watch the videos?”

“Technically, yes, but it would probably drive you insane. So I don’t recommend it. It’d be redundant, anyway. You already have access to all that info. It’s what you’re made of!” 

“Wait,” Mike said, beginning to wish he’d been taking notes. “Yesterday you were blathering about being made in the image of me and Jay. You called yourself our offspring.”

“Yeah,” Rich said. “And?”

“And you just also claimed you’re some ageless god-turned-demon!” 

“See, this is why explaining anything to you two is pointless. You don’t have the frame of reference for how things work outside of your defunct planet. I had to take on a human form in order to infiltrate your world and befriend you. So I used a combination of your physical features to manifest on Earth. That doesn’t make sense to you?”

“No.” 

“Of course not. Why aren’t you eating any donuts? Do you really think I’d poison you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you don’t trust me.” Rich clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Geez, the ingratitude. If you boys had any idea what I’d done for you, you’d never stop thanking me.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve bragged about what you did for us in every conversation we’ve had so far. Saved our legacy, held our realm together--”

“Oh, it’s much more than that, but forget it.” 

“Why’d you do any of it, if we’re so ungrateful?” 

“I told you, I had a mission.” 

Rich avoided Mike’s eyes after saying so, and Mike again got the feeling that there was some part of this story they had never heard, in all the millions of times it had been told. He wasn’t sure how he’d ever get it out of Rich, but if he did, maybe he could lay it at Jay’s feet and say, see, this is why we should be glad to be here forever together. 

“So I only have these-- Feelings, about him, because you were a Cupid before somebody clipped your wings,” Mike said. 

“Who can say?” Rich chugged from his milk until it was gone. “I’m sure that’s part of it. But what’s the difference? I never understood your species’ angst about sex. Sex is the most fundamental building block of the universe. I mean, I’m biased, but I’m also right! Even when you and I are blurred out into space dust someday, sex will still be around. It’s gonna last forever, I’ve always said.” 

“You’re insane,” Mike said. “How’d you ever befriend my origin person? He actually liked you?”

“Liked me? We were like family! In the sense that he gave me a lot of shit like you two do, also. But it came from a place of love. Even when they were busting my ass for getting Earth words wrong.” 

“So they knew you were a time-traveling alien?”

“I think they suspected it now and again, but they never called me out on it.” Rich sighed and shook his head. “I really miss those guys. Can you even conceive of what it’s like to love a mortal? Fuckin’ painful!” 

Mike did know what it was like, but he wasn’t going to sit there trying to convince Rich. As sure as he was that there were some things about Rich that he would never wrap his mind around, he knew there were things about him that Rich couldn’t possibly understand. 

The snow was still coming down hard. Mike went to the window and craned his neck, hoping to see Jay returning from his jog. All he saw was near-blinding snow and black shapes beyond it: the vultures, waiting out there in the cold. There were more than three of them now.

“What’s with the birds?” he asked Rich.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Rich said.

“That’s it?” Mike said when Rich just went on enjoying his donut. “Why not?”

“Aren’t you tired of hearing me explain things yet? Let’s talk about something else. Hey, you want some relationship advice? I am Cupid, after all.” 

“I’m not sure you’ve even really explained what that is.”

“God of desire and erotic love! Duh! Well, minor demon of miscellaneous love, now. Still, I know a shitload about love.” 

“What, and I don’t?”

Rich scoffed wetly and didn’t otherwise answer.

“I’ve been married eight hundred times,” Mike said, though this still didn’t seem true. “That’s got to count for something.” 

“You’re perpetually confused,” Rich said. “That’s probably my fault, too.” 

“Yeah, ya think?”

They heard footsteps on the stairs outside. Mike was relieved to recognize Jay’s springy gait. He went to the door and then backtracked, deciding to play it cool. 

“You’re hopeless,” Rich muttered. 

“Shut up!” Mike hissed. “You’d better get out of here before you upset Jay all over again with your-- Everything, everything about you is upsetting.” 

“Whatever, I’m growing on you. Again!”

Jay had a six pack of beer tucked under his arm when he entered, and his cheeks were pink from the cold. He’d taken off his beanie and his hair was all matted and gross, sweat-caked. Mike wanted to run over and grab him, kiss his stupid perfect face and carry him to the bedroom. He stayed where he was, leaning in the living room doorway like he didn’t give a shit. 

“You got beer,” Mike said when Jay just stood there looking confused by Rich’s presence. 

“Yeah.” Jay looked down at the six pack as if he’d forgotten it was there. “Uh, I guess we have company?” He took a beer out and held it up, looking to Rich. “Want one?”

“Oh, god no!” Rich said, laughing. “I can’t get drunk, not even a little. The fabric of the entire universe would be compromised.” 

“Okay,” Jay said, slowly. He put the six pack down on the table. “What are you guys up to?” He didn’t sound suspicious, exactly. He seemed a little hurt, like they’d arranged a social event and failed to invite him. 

“We were just chit-chatting,” Rich said. “I thought you two might appreciate a follow-up visit after the revelations of yesterday.” 

“You told him about yesterday?” Jay said, giving Mike a stricken, furious look. 

“Huh?” Mike said, and then “No!” when he realized what Jay was talking about, though he had told Rich about that, more or less. 

“I meant the whiteboard,” Rich said. “And the lecture about your place in the universe.” He stood and wiped his hands on his jeans. “The rest is between you two. Anyway, I’ve finished the donuts. Guess I’ll be going.” 

“Where do you live?” Mike asked when Rich headed toward the door. 

“In a warehouse in the center of town,” Rich said. “But you can’t ever go there!” he added, whirling on them. “So don’t follow me. You’d regret it.” 

“Are you threatening us?” Jay asked.

“No, goddammit, I’m protecting you!” 

“From what?” 

Rich just narrowed his eyes and looked at Mike, then back to Jay. He left without saying another word and slammed the door behind him. 

“What’s his problem?” Jay asked. 

“He’s Cupid,” Mike said. “Ex-Cupid, I guess. Demoted demonic version.” 

“What?” 

“I don’t know. How was your jog?” 

“Okay, but there are a bunch of turkey vultures infesting the town.”

“I know.”

“Seems like, uhh. A bad sign.” 

“No kidding.” 

They stood there staring at each other, and Mike could feel the awkwardness of the morning beginning to descend again. He thought of blurting a number of things, some filthy, some embarrassingly sincere. There was also the problem of the vultures, which they should probably discuss further, and the fact that he was pretty sure that Jay was thinking the same thing he was about Rich’s off-limits warehouse guarding some secret that would either save or destroy them. Ultimately he said nothing. 

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Jay said. “Don’t drink all the beer before I get out.” 

“I could just take a shower with you. Hahaha. Just kidding.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“No! I mean, yes! Just, uhh. Don’t use all the hot water. You fuck.” 

The word ‘fuck’ made Jay’s pink cheeks darken to red. He frowned at Mike and gave him a wide berth on his way to the bathroom. Once in there, he shut the door, but not all the way. He had always done this, so that the steam from the hot water could vent. Now Mike stared at the thin line of steam emanating from behind the cracked open door and felt like it was taunting him for being a coward. He thought of Rich saying: why do you think you share a bed? 

Jay came out of the bathroom wearing a towel wrapped around his waist. He seemed startled when he saw Mike still lingering in the living room doorway. 

“Can I just say a few things?” Mike asked, wishing now that he’d taken Rich up on his offer of advice, though his advice probably would have sucked. At least Mike would have had someone else to blame when it failed. 

“Can I get dressed first?” Jay asked, gesturing to the bedroom. 

“Sure, fine, do whatever you want.” 

Mike paced around the living room while Jay dressed. He went into the kitchen and opened a beer, took one sip and paced some more. Outside, the snow was still falling. What would they do if it never stopped?

Jay came out wearing jeans and a screen-printed t-shirt featuring some obscure horror character who was holding a knife and framed by splattered blood. He had also put on argyle socks and combed his damp hair back with his fingers. Mike stood there staring at him and thought about that beer bottle from the day before, how it had trembled like it was going to explode and how Jay had finally just picked it up and smashed it to pieces himself. 

“What were you going to say?” Jay asked, wary. He put his hands in his pockets and tried not to look uncomfortable. 

“I just need to briefly enumerate a few things that I appreciate about you.” 

“Uhh--”

“Let me get this out of my system! Then we can move on to the important stuff. Okay. First of all, I’ve always been really glad that you’re shorter than me.” 

Jay scowled. 

Mike continued, undeterred: “And I like that you have blond eyelashes, but not too blond, you know, not like Jake Busey blond. Yours are just right. They’re perfect, Jay.” 

Jay was still scowling, but now he looked more confused than annoyed.

“And I love that stupid fucking shirt, jesus, look at that thing, and the five million other ones you have just like it.” 

“Are you trying to make me angry for some reason?” Jay asked.

“No! I’m serious about all of this, okay? I also love your voice, and how your accent makes me feel like, uhhh, like there’s a place somewhere in the galaxy that exists and that I came from there, too, even if I’m only sort of tangential to someone who actually came from there, and I keep thinking about how you said my name last night and how it was the best thing I’ve ever heard--”

“Okay, okay!” Jay held up his hands to make him stop. “Is there a point to this? Did Rich get you drunk while I was out jogging?”

“No, I just sat there watching him eat donuts. But this brings me to the point that I do have, yes, which is that I believe we’re both real, me and you. In a way that even Rich doesn’t comprehend.” 

“Yeah?” Jay’s eyes lit up and he walked toward Mike, still keeping a little distance between them. “Me too.” 

“I know you do. And I think if we ever want to feel as real as we know we are, we have to get out of here.”

“Here?” 

“This realm. The neighborhood, Milwaukee-ish-land, whatever you call it.” 

“How are we going to do that?” Jay crossed his arms over his chest and gave the kitchen window a nervous glance. “If we get in the car and drive away, we’ll just end up someplace where there’s nobody around but us and Rich pretending to be different people.” 

“I agree. I’m still thinking about my plan. I feel like, um. Don’t you feel like your head is clearer? Today?”

“Sure.” Jay wrinkled his nose when he realized what Mike was getting at. He was sort of smiling, though, also. “Maybe it’s because of Rich’s whiteboard.”

“Maybe.” Mike waggled his eyebrows. “But you were pretty upset after his whiteboard visit. Kinda seems like someone else is the one who cleared your head, after he left.” 

“Ugh,” Jay said, but he didn’t protest as Mike loomed into his personal space. “Oh no,” he said when Mike took his hand, then put his other hand on Jay’s waist. “What is happening.” 

“Nothing,” Mike said, though he was definitely attempting to slow dance, sort of walking Jay back toward the bedroom as he did. “Hey, did we get married?” 

“Us?”

“Yeah, Jay, us.” 

“I don’t think so.” Jay looped his arms around Mike’s neck and looked away, thoughtful. “Though I do feel, from time to time, like I’ve been to a shitload of weddings.” 

“I can hear your stomach growling,” Mike said, murmuring this close to Jay’s ear as if it was seductive. “How embarrassing.” 

“It’s not embarrassing, I just haven’t eaten in like two days.” 

“Well, can I interest you in some leftover lasagna?”

“I actually feel like I never want to eat lasagna again. No offense.” 

“I’m not offended,” Mike said, though he totally was. “How about a pizza? If we order one now we should have time to clear each other’s heads again before it gets here.” 

“Oh, god, just call it what it is.” 

“I would, but Rich ruined the word sex for me while eating donuts.” 

“Hey, the pizza guy!” Jay said, grabbing Mike’s shoulders.

“No!” Mike said. “He can’t participate.” 

“What? No-- God, no, I mean we can interview him! He’s super earnest and doesn’t seem like a good liar. If we’re gonna get answers from any of Rich’s cronies, it’ll be him.” 

Mike stopped slow dancing and considered this. The pizza delivery guy was the least offensive of the various not-Rich people they encountered around town from time to time. He was very cheerful and small in a way reminded Mike of Fix-It Felix from that one Disney movie. 

“Yeah, it’s worth a shot,” Mike said, though he really didn’t feel like entertaining more company. “What are we gonna ask him, exactly?”

Jay’s grip on Mike’s shoulders tightened. “We could ask him about that warehouse,” he said, almost whispering. 

“How’s the pizza guy gonna know about that?”

“They’re all in this together, Mike! You and I are the only ones who get kept in the dark.” 

“You mean we’re the only real ones.”

“Yeah. That, too.” 

Mike gave Jay a prim kiss on the forehead and went to call for a pizza with cheese curds and pineapple. The guy on the phone, who was probably also the delivery guy, said it would be there in less than half an hour. 

“There’s no time to waste!” Mike said after hanging up, and he swept Jay toward the bedroom as if it was their last chance to do this, because might that not always be true, especially if they kept asking questions? Jay flailed a little, feigning surprise, and let himself be swept.

“Is there anything you want to say to me?” Mike asked when they were lingering in bed afterward, ignoring the fact that they should be getting dressed to meet the pizza guy. Mike was pretty sure he’d heard his car pulling up outside. 

“Hmm?” Jay said. He was curled up in Mike’s arms, probably weak from hunger by that point. 

“Like the stuff I said to you before, about your eyelashes and your voice. In some cultures it would be considered polite to reciprocate those kinds of comments.” 

Jay yawned and sat up on his elbows. His hair was a mess. Mike wanted to add that to the list: I love it when your hair is not perfectly coiffed. But also when it is! 

“I’m just glad you’re my soulmate,” Jay said. “I don’t think everyone gets one. Not like this. And you’re mine. So I guess I’m lucky.” 

Mike felt like an overflowing pint glass, spilling everywhere and still being filled up. It was the way Jay looked at him, which had always been enough, and he felt a little bad for making him say what that look meant out loud, though he was also glad, because now this was the best thing he’d ever heard. He wanted to respond with something really fantastic and equally moving, but the pizza guy was knocking on the apartment’s front door. Jay cursed and catapulted out of bed to get dressed. 

The pizza guy was patient, smiling sincerely when they finally opened the door for him. He also didn’t seem alarmed when they invited him inside and offered him a beer. 

“Do you have Zima?” he asked. 

They did not, but he politely accepted what they did have and took a seat at their kitchen table. His name tag said COLIN. Jay was devouring a slice of pizza, so Mike took it upon himself to begin the interrogation. 

“So,” Mike said. “What’s your deal?”

“My deal?” Colin said. He was still smiling. “In what sense?”

“Specifically in relation to Rich,” Jay said, still chewing. 

“The mayor,” Mike said, leaning toward Colin as if this was a secret password. 

“Oh, is that what you guys call him? Well, let’s see.” Colin drummed his fingers against his beer bottle, which he’d taken only one tiny sip from thus far. “So, as far as it was explained to me, I’m an echo-resemblance of an ancillary character from some media content made by the people you guys echo-resemble.” 

“So you’re just doomed to deliver pizzas to us for all eternity?” Mike said. “That ain’t fair!”

“I don’t look at it as being doomed. It’s fun! I never know what you two will order. Cheese curds this time! Classic. But then you’ve got the pineapple, too. That’s a rare request.” 

“Are you hanging around someplace when you’re not bringing us pizzas?” Jay asked. 

“I don’t know,” Colin said. He pursed his lips, shrugged and grinned. “Maybe! I guess I just haven’t given it that much thought.” 

“So you don’t go into storage at the warehouse?” Mike asked, lowering his voice on that last word. “The one that Rich uses as his lair?”

Colin shifted in his chair and glanced toward the door. He looked nervous when he met Mike’s eyes again. 

“I don’t think I’m cleared to talk about things like that,” he said. 

“Cleared by whom? Who went and made Rich the boss?” 

“Well, I’m pretty sure this whole place exists because he poured out some of his elemental essence to create it.” 

Mike and Jay cut each other a look. This was new information. 

“Real nice of Rich to do that for us echoes,” Mike said. “My question is, why. What’s in it for him, you get me?”

“Who can say why the gods do anything!” Colin laughed uncertainly and sipped from his beer. “I’m sure Rich has his reasons, and I’m sure they’re plenty wholesome.” 

Mike took a bite from a slice of pizza and allowed the silence that followed that asinine statement to become awkward. Jay seemed complicit in this plan, as he had started in on a second slice and was just staring at Colin while he chewed. It heartened Mike to think how firmly they were on the same side again. Soulmates! He stuffed more pizza in his face to keep from grinning stupidly.

“Look, guys,” Colin said. “There’s nothing to be gained from going to that warehouse, I can tell you that much.” 

“What’s in there,” Jay asked, deadpan. 

“Nothing! Just, you know. Behind the scenes stuff.” 

“We never agreed to be in any scenes,” Mike said. 

“Yeah,” Jay said. “Those were some other guys. It’s almost like old Rich is trying to recreate the world he misses, all the mortal friends he remembers, and he’s using us as his puppets.” 

Colin looked very nervous now, and a little sad. Mike felt guilty, but this had to be done. None of the other stone cold bastards were going to crack under this kind of pressure.

“Look at it from our perspective,” Mike said. “There’s a whole massive galaxy out there, allegedly, and we’re stuck in here living out the same events over and over for some immortal’s amusement.” 

“It’s not for his amusement!” Colin said. He took his pizza delivery cap off and worried it between his hands. “You guys are so wrong about Rich. He’s your friend. He’d never do anything to hurt you!”

“He says he wants to protect us,” Mike said, “And I believe him, I do. But maybe this has gone on long enough, Colin! Even Rich admitted he doesn’t quite know what we are, that it’s unprecedented for us to have lasted this long. We’ve evolved beyond his understanding. Maybe that means it’s time to face our future and get the hell out of this loop.” 

“But you’d be destroyed!” Colin said, and he leapt out of his chair. “Guys, please. I can’t say any more!” 

“Who would destroy us?” Jay asked, standing. 

“I can’t say his name!”

“Why not?” Mike asked, and he got up, too. Colin had started backing toward the door. 

“Saying his name would summon him!” Colin said. “And, and you don’t want that, you guys don’t understand, please-- He wants you not just gone from this place but forgotten completely! He would alter time and space to do it if he could! He almost got away with it once, if Rich hadn’t stopped him--” 

Colin clapped both hands over his mouth, shook his head and bolted for the door. Mike considered chasing after him, but he didn’t want to terrorize the poor guy any further. He sat and resumed eating pizza, thoughtful. 

“Who do you think it is who wants us erased?” Jay asked. He dragged his chair closer to Mike’s and looked warily toward the window. The snow storm was raging on outside as the daylight dimmed behind the clouds. 

“I don’t know,” Mike said. “But I think we have to go to that warehouse if we want to really get to the bottom of this.” 

“I think so, too. Geez, what did we ever do to somebody to make him want to bend time and space to erase us?”

“And why did Rich want to save us so badly that he gave up his elemental essence to do it?” 

“What’s an elemental essence?”

“It’s some kind of building block of all creation,” Mike said, thinking of sex. “I guess Rich had a lot of it, having been Cupid, but giving some up seems to have hobbled him. He claims he was sent on a mission to save us by some higher-up figure, and he laughed at me when I asked if it was Zeus, or a Zeus equivalent. But who else could it be?”

“I don’t know. How are we gonna make Rich tell us the truth?”

“Maybe we can’t. Maybe we just have to go see it for ourselves.” 

They both looked toward the window. Beyond the foreboding snowfall and oncoming darkness there was a line of vultures watching them from the roof of the adjacent building, at least twenty of them packed in a tight formation and more flapping around behind them. 

“This is not going to be easy,” Mike said. 

“No, it’s not.” 

“So we’d better have sex again, for luck.” 

“Um. Okay, sure.”

“Or maybe like five times.” 

They finished the pizza and returned to bed. By then Mike was feeling mostly full and sleepy, so he took a nap with Jay spooned up against him, postponing both the sex and whatever harrowing adventure would follow it. When he woke it was dark outside, and dark in their bedroom, and cuddled down under the blankets with his soulmate seemed like maybe not a place that he should be in such a hurry to leave after all. What more proof did they need that they were both real than the fact that they were radiating happiness, also literal warmth? What was the rest of the galaxy going to give them that they couldn’t find right here?

It occurred to Mike that they had been through this many times. Maybe the cozy routine of sex was actually what was keeping them inside their Cupid-made bubble. Still, he woke Jay up for more of it.

“What time is it?” Jay asked later, after they’d fallen asleep and awakened again. It was still dark outside, and Mike still didn’t feel like leaving their little cocoon to cross the hall to the bathroom for a piss, let alone to venture out into the cold and face potential destruction in a mysterious warehouse. 

“It’s nighttime,” Mike said. 

“Wow, thanks.” Jay sat up and leaned over Mike to retrieve his phone from the bedstand. “It’s almost midnight,” he said. “Do you have an idea about what to do next yet?”

Mike was too good at coming up with ideas: he couldn’t deny that he had one. He nodded gravely and resisted the urge to bargain with Jay, or himself, about how much longer they could or should wait, just in case everything changed for the worse because of what they were about to do. This felt different from other times when he’d turned away from the opportunity to take action. Jay would let him do so for all eternity, but perhaps he would also grow more and more cynical about restarting their familiar adventures here. His eyes lit up whenever Mike did something actually daring, as if he’d been waiting a long time to see it.

“Let’s get dressed,” Mike said. Every word felt like swallowing a rock. What if they never saw this bed again? What if they were separated by the revelations ahead? Still, he knew the time had come. He felt it in his bones. 

“Okay,” Jay said. He was holding on to Mike’s forearms, squeezing. “Then what?”

“Then we go outside and follow the trail of perched vultures.” 

“Really? Why?”

“Because I’m pretty sure it leads to that warehouse. And we’re breaking in there, Jay.” 

“Oh, god. Okay. Yeah, let’s do it. Let’s go.” 

Jay didn’t ask what they would do once they were inside, maybe because he knew Mike didn’t have a plan for that part yet. They would have to think on their feet based on whatever they found. Regardless, Jay was following him into battle like he thought they couldn’t lose. And perhaps that had always been the point of all of this.


	6. Chapter 6

The cold outside was punishing and wind was violent, like a weapon that kept lashing at them while they made their way slowly through the snow-thick streets, heads bowed as they pressed ahead. There was no hope of using the car, and the vultures that watched them from the rooftops lined the main roads only at first, then twisting into a channel of narrow alleyways that Mike was pretty sure they had never ventured into before. 

They were both wrapped in as many layers as they could wear while still remaining mobile, hats tugged over their ears and scarves pulled up to cover everything but their eyes. The cold still bit past all their protections, warning them back with every struggling step forward.

“Are you all right?” Mike asked, shouting over the wind and turning back toward Jay, the wind making him almost stumble right into him. 

“I’m fine!” Jay shouted back. “Just keep going! How much farther, do you think?”

“I don’t know, I can’t see the end of the vultures yet!”

One of them seemed to cackle from the rooftops overhead, hearing this. They were watching, tittering to themselves occasionally as their presence lead the way. When Mike blinked up at them, snow fell in his face and obscured their features, but he could see the steady black line of them winding along the tops of the alleyways, ominously guiding the way. 

Mike turned back into the wind and pressed on. There was no sound in the alley they were moving through or the town in general, except the occasional rustling of vulture wings, the relentless wind, and their heavy footsteps crunching through the snow that continued to fall. Mike kept wanting to turn again and check on Jay, but doing so too many times seemed dangerous, like those old stories about looking back at your loved one after a god had warned you not to dare it, forcing you to blindly trust that they were still following behind. Every time Jay coughed pitifully into the front of his scarf Mike felt a little stab of both relief and terror.

When the maze-like alleyways finally deposited them onto a main road, Mike could see the warehouse up ahead in the dark. It was unmistakable, huge and characterless, a dark square of concrete with a roof covered in vultures. 

“Holy shit,” Jay said. He stood beside Mike and boggled at the looming warehouse. What Mike could see of his face was red from the cold. “Are those birds gonna dive bomb us or something?”

“I don’t think so,” Mike said. “They lead us here, after all.” 

“So how are we gonna get in?”

“Let’s case the joint.” 

Jay nodded. “Like, we split up and each go in one direction?”

“No! God, no, are you forgetting all those horror movies you’ve seen?”

“I could tell you anything about any one of those movies, just try me.” 

“Okay, how’s this: is splitting up ever a good idea?”

“Fine, smart ass. Let’s go.” 

The warehouse seemed to hum, not literally but in a shape-occupying sense, just because of the size of it. Creeping closer, Mike felt as if he was daring to trespass on some massive beast’s territory. It made him realize both that most buildings in their realm were smallish and that he hadn’t actually been to another state, though presumably the person he echoed had once been recorded visiting other states, hence his former certainty. It also occurred to him that he had never even been to the actual Wisconsin. He felt nostalgic for it all the same, and supposed this might even be sharper than normal nostalgia, because he also felt sort of robbed. 

“Do you think Earth is really just a dead rock now?” Mike asked as they crept around the side of the building, searching for any breachable entrance. “Or are we gonna find out Rich was lying about that?”

“Why would he lie about that part?” Jay asked.

“I guess I just hope that’s what he’s lying about, is all.” 

Mike looked up at the roof of the warehouse. A collection of watchful vultures looked back at him, and more snow got dumped in his face. He couldn’t see any high windows or fire escapes and wasn’t sure what else to look for. They hadn’t even found a bolted door yet.

They made their way around the back of the building, moving slowly and keeping close to each other. Mike was winded, and he could hear Jay breathing heavily, too. Their breath fogged the air, and Mike’s teeth had begun to chatter. He wanted to yell at someone that this was proof they were real, human, vulnerable, all of it. He wanted specifically to yell this at Rich, and took a few long strides away from the building to get a better view of the back wall. His desperation to get out of the cold and take shelter from the wind felt like momentum enough to squeeze through any crack he could find in this place, but all he could see through the swirling snow was solid concrete.

“There’s got to be some way to access the interior!” Mike shouted, near-livid with frustration when they had made their way around to the west-facing side of the building and had almost reached the street again, still with no doors, ladders, or windows in sight. “It’s not like we’ve seen Rich teleport or walk through walls!”

“True!” Jay shouted back. The wind seemed louder on this side of the building, and like it was trying to rip their scarves away entirely whenever they inched them down to speak. They huddled close together for a moment to catch their breath. “I still don’t understand how he got that whiteboard up and down the stairs at our place,” Jay said. “Maybe he does have some kind of transporter-type power that we don’t.” 

“I heard the Wizard ask him to conjure a Dr. Pepper,” Mike said, deflating. “But he refused. Maybe it’s hard.” 

“Let’s keep looking,” Jay said, and he nudged Mike forward. “We’ll find a way in.” 

Mike wasn’t so sure, but he pretended to believe in Jay’s optimistic outlook and pressed on. He felt like the vultures wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t some hope of infiltrating this place. Rich had wanted him to ignore them, after all. 

They came back to the front of the building, which was discernible as the front only in the sense that it faced the empty street. Mike paced backward take a better look than he had when they first started casing around the side, where he’d thought they’d have a better chance of finding a way in. Out front there were streetlights focused on nothing but more featureless gray concrete. Mike cursed under his breath and considered what it would mean to walk back to the apartment, peel off their snow-damp clothes and crawl back into bed together. Would it really be the worst outcome? Would it represent some kind of defeat, or just a confirmation that there was nothing for them here but each other? Could that be the same thing, when all he really wanted was to spend the rest of whatever existence was owed to him alongside Jay?

But that wasn’t all he wanted, if he was really honest. He just couldn’t put a name to the other things, because they’d been hidden from him for so long, maybe for as long as he’d been alive in this place. Jay wanted something else, too, which was maybe more important. Mike turned to give him a pathetic, searching look, blinking through the snow. He felt his eyes watering from the cold when the wind seemed to blow straight into his face. Jay glanced over at him and sniffled behind his scarf. They were tiny figures in the massive shadow of the warehouse, and even the landscape of the town seemed to have deserted them, blanked out by snow. 

“Why do you think Rich locked up the VCR repair shop?” Jay asked. “Isn’t that where he wants us to be? And locking it up started this whole thing off.” 

“Good question,” Mike said. “Wait a minute. Jay, that’s it!” 

“What’s it?”

“The entryway to the warehouse is back in the VCR repair shop somewhere!”

“But that’s miles from here.”

“Tunnels, Jay! Underground tunnels!”

“Oh, fuck, so we have to walk all the way back there, and then all the way back here through some creepy tunnel?”

“You’re the one who loves exercise, allegedly. And creepy things. Let’s go!”

“But how are we gonna get past that padlock?” Jay asked, already trudging along behind Mike back in the direction from which they’d come. 

“Let me worry about that!” Mike said. “I have a plan!”

This time it was true. When they finally reached the repair shop, they were exhausted and dragging in their steps, but the sight of the front door half-barricaded by snow gave Mike a second wind. The padlock was still in place on the shop’s front door, and the CLOSED FOR REPAIRS sign, too. Mike bypassed the front entrance and headed around back, where he made a foothold with his hands so Jay could climb up onto the dumpster that sat beneath the shop’s single, high back window. 

“How am I supposed to break it?” Jay asked once he was up there.

“Hang on!” Mike said. He was rooting around under the dumpster, digging through the snow with his gloved hands. “I know I left it back here,” he said, muttering to himself. He wasn’t sure that he didn’t so in some previous cycle, however, before he forgot everything. Would inanimate objects be reset in the same way they had reset themselves by forgetting? He thought of the peas that were always in the freezer and kept digging. 

“What are you looking for?” Jay asked.

“This!” Mike said, grinning when he felt its handle: a hammer. He scrambled up to hoist it triumphantly. “I left it out here after smashing some VHS tapes during the summer!”

“What were you doing that for?”

“For fun!” 

“How come I wasn’t invited?”

“Jay, shut up and break that window!” 

Mike lifted the hammer so Jay could take it. He did, but then just held it and gave Mike a puzzled look. 

“Can’t we just use this to break the padlock off the front door?” he asked. 

“No!” Mike said, though he supposed they probably could. “Just do as I asked, dammit, before we freeze to death out here.” 

Jay sighed but turned to follow Mike’s instructions. He lifted the hammer and bashed in the window. Mike braced himself for some surprise alarm system to start blaring, but there was only the sound of broken glass crashing into the room below. When it was all cleared away, Jay tucked the hammer into his belt loop and reached down to help Mike scramble up onto the dumpster. 

“Who do you think you are with that hammer?” Mike asked. He was beaming, feeling suddenly sure that they were going to make it out of here, alive and together.

“Huh?” Jay said. 

“Nothing.” He kissed Jay on the cheek for luck and knelt down to again make a foothold with his hands.

Jay scrambled through the window first. It was lucky Mike was well-esteemed in his view at the moment, because he was just slim enough to get through himself. He dismounted clumsily and almost landed on his head. The probable wrist sprain that he got when he caught himself against the floor of the shop’s pitch dark backroom was a relief: good, this meant he was real. Not that he needed further proof, but the undeniable reality of the pain kept him going without pause, feeling around in the dark with his uninjured hand. It wasn’t warm inside the shop, but it was a hell of a lot better than it was outside in the wind and the snow, and they were making progress toward something big, he could feel it. 

He found their toolbox and rooted around inside it until he felt the flashlight. Mercifully, it had functioning batteries. Jay held his hand up over his eyes when Mike shined it in his direction.

“Maybe don’t point that right in my face,” Jay said. 

“Sorry. I wanted to see you.” 

“Well, here I am. What now? You really think there’s some secret passageway in here?”

“Doesn’t that seem right to you, too?”

Jay groaned. “I guess. Would it be on the floor somewhere?”

“Yeah, it’s gotta be. Look for anything that might be a hatch.” 

As there was only one flashlight, they stuck close together, crawling around on the floor and feeling for anything out of the ordinary while Mike moved the flashlight in methodical sweeps. He supposed they could put the shop’s lights on, but that seemed like it would attract unwanted attention. He imagined the Wizard or Jack the Milkman coming in here and trying to play innocent while throwing wrenches in their plan. He’d rather not have to waste one of those guys with a hammer, even if they weren’t entirely real.

They had no luck in the back and moved on to the bathroom, also finding nothing. When they were behind the front counter, Mike took a moment to appreciate that they might never be here again, though he was beginning to worry about the fact that they hadn’t found a hidden passageway yet. 

“We had some good times here,” he said, holding the flashlight while Jay ran his gloved hands over the dirty floor, looking for a catch or a magic button, anything. 

“Sure did,” Jay said. He kept his eyes down, focused on searching. “We’re gonna have good times again, Mike. Elsewhere. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried. But. I was thinking. If we figure out what’s going on, are we going to have to face the thing that wants to destroy us?”

“Probably.” 

“And, like. How are we going to do that? What weapons do we have?”

Jay winced when Mike shined the flashlight in his face again.

“We’ve got this,” Jay said, reaching back to pat the hammer that was hooked into the belt loop on his jeans. “And, uh. Our wits!”

“Yeah. Okay. Let’s go to the front, there’s nothing back here.” 

They moved out to the front of the store. Mike looked up at the dirty windows that blurred the snowfall outside, and the sign that was still taped to the door. His gaze slid to the front right corner, where the water cooler sat. 

“Jay,” Mike said, reaching over to poke his shoulder. “Look.” 

He pointed the flashlight at the water cooler. It had always been there, as far as he could remember, and was the only piece of furniture in the front of the shop. The base wasn’t wide enough to conceal anything, but when Mike shined the light onto the floor space around it, he found a fine line cut into the linoleum, demarcating a square that the cooler sat atop. 

“That’s it,” Jay said. “Move the cooler.”

Mike did so, and Jay pried at the square of floor tile until a hatch beneath it popped open. It was just big enough for the widest parts of Rich to fit through, and a cool, lightless space lurked below. Mike shined the flashlight into the pit, but it revealed nothing, just more darkness. 

“So what do we do?” Jay asked. “Jump down there?”

“Uhhh,” Mike said. He couldn’t see a way around it, but he didn’t like the idea. “I don’t know. Shit. Let me think.”

“Think about what? Here goes nothing.” 

Jay stood up and jumped into the hole, disappearing into the dark. 

“Wait!” Mike shouted, too late. He had wanted to say something before either of them dared going in, some maybe-last words, and he didn’t like Jay referring to himself as nothing even euphemistically, especially right before pitching himself into the unknown. “Jay!” he shouted, leaning over the hole. He heard a faint thump and what he hoped was Jay making an unharmed ‘oof’ noise. “Jay!” 

“I’m here!” Jay shouted back. He sounded far away. “Come down! There’s a bunch of cushions! Rich must get down here the same way I just did! By jumping!”

“You fucker!” Mike shouted, disliking how panicked and uneven his voice sounded. “You can’t just jump down bottomless pits like you’re invincible!” 

“Sure I can, I just did! C’mon!”

Mike groaned and took the leap, shouting “LOOK OUT BELOW!” on his way down. The landing took the breath out of him but was surprisingly painless, though the flashlight didn’t take it well and wouldn’t come back when Mike shook it vigorously. A light that seemed flame-like came on in a narrow corridor ahead and gave him a sense of what the room he had fallen into was like: walled-in on all sides that faced the corridor and filled almost entirely with a massive mound of pillows and cushions that Jay was crawling over in order to reach him. 

“This is weird,” Mike said, looking up at the tiny square of dim light from the VCR shop, which seemed like it was miles above them. 

“No kidding.” Jay took the flashlight and tried to get it working. He shrugged when he couldn’t and pointed to the light that had come on up ahead. “What do you think that is?” he asked.

“Looks like a torch.” 

“It came on when you fell down here. Is somebody in here with us?”

“Fuck,” Mike said, hoping not. “Let’s go find out.” 

They crawled off the mound of cushions. The floor of the room was paved with large grey stones, and there was only one way forward, just the single corridor with the light. They walked into it, shoulder to shoulder and moving slowly, watching for shadows. All they found was a wall-mounted torch, and when they reached it a second one fired to life up ahead, illuminating more of the winding passageway. 

“This looks like a video game dungeon that’s come to life,” Jay muttered, saying what Mike was thinking. 

“Rich,” Mike said, eyes narrowing. Jay looked at him and nodded. They walked forward, moving more quickly now.

As they got further from the VCR shop, the tunnels got colder. Every time they reached another wall-mounted torch, the next one would light up ahead, showing them the way.

“How does Rich get back out of here?” Jay asked when they had been walking for a while, no end in sight. 

“We’ll ask him when we find him,” Mike said, though that was the least important of his many questions. “He’s at the end of this path. I can smell it.”

Jay sniffed the air. “Seriously? All I smell is rocks and fire.” 

“It’s an expression, Jay.” 

Mike wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find at the end of the torch-lined hallway, but it was definitely something grander than a basic steel ladder that lead upward into unfathomable darkness. He took hold of one of the rungs and gave it a shake to test its stability. Doing so made him remember his wrist sprain.

“Rich climbs this every time he returns to his lair?” Jay said, disbelieving. 

“I guess so.” Mike tugged on the ladder again. It seemed sturdy enough to hold them. “I’ll go first this time.” 

“I’m tired,” Jay whined, looking up at the ladder. “Should we even be doing this?”

“Jay, we’re already in the hole! It’s too late for second guessing. The only way out …. Is up.” 

“Ugh, I know. Go ahead, I’ll follow you.” 

Mike was tired, too, but no amount of physical exhaustion could stop him now. Even the pain in his wrist was only encouragement, because it meant he wasn’t just some dream of a past person but an actual soul within a body who was moving toward a real goal at last. 

Still, when he’d been climbing the ladder for what felt like a long time without any hint that they were nearing the top, he began to worry that this was a fool’s errand, doomed to fail. His arms and legs were shaking, his wrist hurt worse with every rung he gripped, and he was coated with sweat inside the many layers he’d worn to combat the cold outside. He could hear Jay struggling behind him, breathing heavily and grunting with discomfort at moments. 

“Can you see the top yet?” Jay asked, for the tenth or hundredth time; Mike had lost count.

“Don’t give up!” Mike said. He couldn’t see anything. They were far enough from the torches at the bottom that the last glow of their light was behind them. “We’re almost there, I can feel it!”

“Bullshit you can!” Jay said, but he kept climbing, too. 

When Mike finally reached the top of the ladder he felt it rather than seeing it, his head smacking a flat surface that was suddenly above them. Icy panic sank into his bones when he slipped a little and caught himself, and again when he pressed against the surface overhead, afraid it wouldn’t budge and that they had exhausted themselves for nothing, now too tired to even climb back down. He tried again and laughed in giddy relief when the surface overhead shifted upward. It was a floor panel that gave way to a room above that wasn’t quite as dark as the ladder shaft they’d just climbed through. 

Mike shoved the floor panel aside, lacking the energy for stealth. He could barely hoist himself upward to climb the last few ladder rungs, his muscles screaming for mercy and trembling violently now. He wanted to kiss the concrete floor of the room when he knelt on it, finally free of the ladder’s endless ascent, but before he could do that he reached down to help Jay up. 

They collapsed into each other’s arms and laughed in near-hysterical relief, sweat soaked and madly shedding their coats, then sweaters, hats and gloves, everything down to their shirts and jeans. Mike had convinced Jay to wear his VCR repair shop shirt, and he was wearing his, too. The shirts seemed like talismans that would protect them somehow.

“Where are we?” Jay asked, looking around. 

“It’s the warehouse,” Mike said. He was confident about this because of the size of the giant, empty room they were kneeling in. There was a faint blue light coming from the back left corner of the warehouse, within what looked like a walled-off room, and otherwise the place was dark, windowless and cavernous. 

“Where is everything?” Jay asked, still on his knees and looking around. 

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure, just. I thought there would be a lot of stuff in here. And it’s just-- Nothing.” 

Mike felt bothered by this, too, in a way he couldn’t understand. He struggled to his feet and stretched his arms over his head, rolled his shoulders and tried to summon the energy to continue onward. Jay braced himself on Mike’s leg as he stood, and then his shoulder. They were both still a little breathless as they looked around again, searching for something unnameable that was no longer there or had never been. Mike shrugged off his sense of sadness about this and turned toward the room in back where the blue light was flickering. 

“Someone’s in there,” he said. Now that his eyes had focused he saw a door to the room that was shut. A high window on that door showed the blue light coming from within. 

“Do you think it’s Rich?” Jay asked, gripping Mike’s arm. “Or is it the person who wants to destroy us?”

“Guess we’ll find out,” Mike said. He took a deep breath, exhaled noisily, and reached over to neaten Jay’s hair. Their adventure had already done a number on it. Jay had never liked having his hair messed with, but he was too tired to protest, or maybe he was only letting Mike indulge in this since they might be on the verge of destruction. “Still got that hammer?”

“Got it.” Jay reached down to touch the handle. “Let’s do this.” 

They walked across the empty warehouse floor, their footsteps echoing off the high ceiling and blank walls. The blue light made the place look surreal, and Mike felt for a moment like they were walking through some kind of video world. The alienness of this sensation made him realize how far away they’d always been from the people who had inhabited the world that made them, the world that was gone.

He tried again to think of some sweeping, eloquent love declaration to say to Jay in case they opened that door and destruction came pouring out. Before he could come up with anything good enough, Jay stood on his toes to look in the window on the door. 

“It’s just Rich,” Jay said, turning back to Mike. He was smiling a little, relieved. “He’s in there playing video games, looks like.”

Mike walked over to see for himself. In the room, which was small, Rich sat before a big screen that showed his video game character firing on some enemies from behind an overturned car that was also on fire. Rich sat in a mound of pillows that looked like a smaller version of the one that had broken their fall from the VCR repair shop. He was wearing a headset and shouting into the microphone, his muffled voice just audible through the door. There was no indication that he knew they’d infiltrated his fortress. 

Mike tried the doorknob and wasn’t sure if he was surprised or not when it opened. 

“What the fuck are you doing!” Rich shouted, but he wasn’t talking to them. He was still looking at the screen, outraged at some fellow player. “Are you blind, he’s right behind you! Fuck! Motherfucker! Well, okay, great. I’m dead. Thanks, guys, thanks for that.”

“Rich!” Jay said.

Rich still didn’t turn. He was cursing under his breath, watching his teammates continue the game while his character floated in limbo.

Mike walked toward the screen until Rich could spot him from the corner of his eye. Rich shrieked in surprise and threw his game controller at Mike. 

“What the hell!” Rich ripped the headset off and turned to see Jay, too. “You two-- Hey! What, how? How’d you get in here? What is happening?”

“We’re the ones who’ll be asking the questions,” Jay said. “We know you’re hiding something from us in here.”

“Yeah,” Mike said. He bent down to pick up Rich’s game controller and pointed it at him in lieu of a weapon. “The pizza delivery guy told us everything.”

“Colin?” Rich scowled. “Yeah fucking right. That guy’s a total boy scout, and you guys don’t know shit.” 

“Maybe we’re figuring stuff out on our own!” Jay said. “We figured out how to get in here, didn’t we?”

“What is this place?” Mike asked. He looked around at the walls of Rich’s little room. Posters of old movies were tacked up all over the walls in a haphazard fashion, overlapping each other in some places. There was a cabinet overloaded with snacks and a little fridge beside it. The center of the room was entirely filled with the nest of blankets and pillows that Rich was sitting in. 

“This is my house,” Rich said. He was giving Mike a humorless stare, the game headset still looped around his neck. “And you just broke in.” 

“That’s right we did,” Mike said, jabbing the controller in Rich’s direction. “We’re fed up being prisoners of your little Earth friendship fantasy, or whatever the fuck this place is. We want out.”

“Even if that means facing the person who wants us destroyed,” Jay said. “Who is he, anyway?”

“Tell us!” Mike said when Rich’s shoulders slumped. “Time’s up. We’re not going to be your chumps for another two million years.” 

“Yeah!”

When Rich put his head in his hands, Mike felt a little bad, despite everything. On the screen, Rich’s video game character waited to be reactivated in a new game, blinking and shuffling, adjusting her massive gun from one shoulder to the other. Mike glanced over at Jay, who just looked confused. 

“Oh, god,” Rich said. “This is all my fault.” 

“Damn right it is,” Jay said. 

“What have you been keeping from us?” Mike asked, though he was still afraid to know. “All these whiteboard explanations, over and over, and there’s something you’ve never told us, isn’t there?”

Rich sighed. “Can I have my controller back?” he asked. He was mumbling, eyes downcast, everything about his posture communicating defeat. 

“You can’t just go back to your game,” Mike said. “We’re not fucking around!”

“I need the controller to turn the game off!” Rich glared at Mike and held his hand out. “You want me to tell you everything and let you go traipsing around ruining it all? Fine. Let me turn my damn game off first.”

Mike handed the controller to Rich and gave Jay a nervous glance. Jay had crossed his arms over his chest and was keeping an eye on Rich as if he suspected him of doing something other than powering the game down. 

Rich set the controller aside when the screen had blinked from the paused game to a bare expanse of bright blue. He rubbed both hands over his face and groaned under his breath. 

“Look,” he said, glancing up at Mike, then Jay. “I understand your frustration. Have you really not figured out that I’m trapped in here with you?”

“Trapped?” Jay’s eyebrows went up. “By who?”

“It’s not who, exactly, though you’ll have to go through the Director if you want to get out. But getting out might mean not existing anymore. Not just here but anywhere!”

“Who’s the Director?” Mike asked. 

“He’s the evil entity that sent me back through time and space to destroy you two.” 

Mike boggled at Jay, whose eyes were wide, too. They both whirled back to Rich.

“You?” Mike said. “I thought you were sent back to protect us?”

“Nope. I was supposed to derail your lives and prevent you from even becoming friends, also to discourage all your hopes and dreams, even murder you in cold blood if necessary.” 

Mike and Jay looked at each other again, frowning. 

“I couldn’t do it!” Rich said, throwing out both his hands. “I’d never been human before, I wasn’t prepared for how soft it makes you! I liked you guys, okay? You were my first real friends on Earth, and I thought your stuff was fuckin’ great!” 

“Our stuff?” Jay said. 

“Well, not yours. Theirs. The media content, the studio, the whole shebang. And you’re not them, jesus, I always knew that, but I think I wanted you to be, or close enough. We’re all stuck in this realm because of me, because I failed my mission and saved you instead of destroying you-- them, I mean, and their work. I wasn’t ready to let go of my friends. Mortal life is too fucking brief! It’s insane that it could mean anything to anyone at all, short as it is, but it did, and it still means a lot to me. I know you’re not them. But I can’t help wanting you to be, a little! If I let you guys confront the Director, he’ll wipe the floor with you. This place ain’t perfect, but it’s everything I can do to keep us all safe from his wrath.” 

“Who is he?” Mike asked. “And why does he hate us?”

Rich took a deep breath. He shook his head.

“I can’t explain it,” he said.

“Like hell you can’t!” Jay said. “Try!”

“He’s the sentry that controls the whole system where this realm exists. Back when I was Cupid he basically owned me. He was able to trap me with his powers and make me his mercenary. He didn’t realize that once I went back in time and assumed human form, I’d have actual free will and he wouldn’t be able to control me anymore. Hence my ability to betray him, but once my mortal form expired I was vulnerable to him again. I created this realm so I could continue keeping you guys safe. As long as your cultural echoes exist here, he can’t find some other way to try to destroy them. If you really want to find out who he is--” Rich groaned and kicked a pillow. “There is a way for you two to go to his turf and see for yourselves.”

“Tell us how,” Mike said.  

“Why? What the hell do you think you’re gonna do once you get there?”

Jay took the hammer off his belt and held it up. Rich rolled his eyes. 

“Right. He’s powerful enough to entrap gods, so that should do the trick.” 

“To hell with the hammer,” Mike said. “We’ve got something he doesn’t.” 

“And what is that.”

“Souls. Two of ‘em.”  

“Why, because you’re echoes of humans? Ha, well, I got bad news for you boys. So is he.”

“He’s just an _echo_?” Jay said. “Then what’s the big fuckin’ deal?”

“Yeah, and how’d some echo end up controlling the elemental god of love?”

“He’s uniquely talented when it comes to harnessing the raw power of myth,” Rich said.

“Huh?” Mike said. 

“Look, if I knew exactly how he did it I would have un-did it by now! Maybe he’ll explain the whole fuckin’ thing to you two in a big monologue before he crushes you.” 

“He’s not gonna crush us,” Jay said. He stuck the hammer back in his belt loop. “It’ll be two echoes against one.” 

“Yeah,” Mike said, though he wasn’t so sure Jay’s confidence was deserved. Rich looked genuinely scared for them, also like he’d just lost his best friend. “And if he’s so powerful, how’ve you been able to keep him from getting in here and hurting us for so long?”

“It’s like a Mexican standoff,” Rich said. 

“Oh, god,” Mike said, thinking of the Wizard. “What’s Mexican about it?”

“It’s an expression! From Earth. A Mexican standoff is when everyone has their weapons pointed at each other, and there’s no way any of them can get the jump on the others without destroying themselves, too.” 

“Soooo,” Jay said. “If we defeat this Director guy, we destroy ourselves anyway?”

“Yes, goddammit! What the hell have I been trying to tell you, over and over? Don’t pull at the seams of this place, for your own good!” 

“How do you know it would destroy us if we took him down?” Mike asked. “Have you been stuck in a realm like this before?”

“Of course not! This place is unique. But I just know, okay? This whole thing was his doing, when he first sent me back through time and space. He basically carved out a divot in the universe, and we’re all inside it. So if he goes down, we all do.” 

“But you just said we’re unique. It’s not like you have some previous example to refer to.”

“Mike, if you’re determined to do this, I can’t stop you.” Rich walked closer, still looking stricken. “I’ve spent all this time being afraid to say goodbye to my friends. The originals are already gone. I know that now. I guess I’ve known that since you two starting sleeping together and marrying each other and so forth. But that’s only endeared you to me further, because it means some of me and my Cupid-ness has bled into you over all these years.” 

“Hey, you can’t take credit for us being in love,” Jay said. “We did that on our own.” 

“Yeah,” Mike said, more touched by this than he was willing to show. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Jay refer to it that way before. He mentally tucked it alongside the soulmates comment as proof that his adoration of Jay was mutual. 

“Ehh, I’m pretty sure it was my essence that caused it,” Rich said. “But whatever. The point is, I’ve come to love you guys, too. Platonically, I mean, and as yourselves, not just as echoes of the guys I knew on Earth. Maybe I’m the one who gave you souls, in that sense. And as time has gone on, they’ve gotten more and more authentically soul-like. I knew you’d outgrow this place eventually. And I knew that, when you did, I still wouldn’t be ready to say goodbye.” 

Rich dropped his arms to his sides. His gaze sank to the floor and his shoulders slumped.

“Maybe destroying the Director will free all of us,” Mike said, wanting to cheer him up, also wanting to believe this for his own sake.

“We have to try it,” Jay said. “Aren’t you sick of being trapped here with us?”

“Well, sure, but it beats being annihilated and losing the cultural legacy that I gave up everything to protect!”

“Come with us,” Mike said. “We could use your help when we face this Director guy.” 

“Yeah,” Jay said. “You’re part of the team.” 

Rich smiled a little but still looked sad. 

“Can’t do it, boys,” he said. “Only echoes are allowed on the ride.”

“The ride?”

“Follow me.” 

Rich walked out of the office and crossed the dark warehouse floor, Mike and Jay trailing behind him. On the side of the warehouse opposite Rich’s video game room, there was a large black door that Mike hadn’t noticed before. It hadn’t been visible from outside the building, and Mike had the feeling it wouldn’t open out into the snowy night. 

“This is really it,” Rich said, turning back to them with his hand on the doorknob. His voice was small and a little shaky. “Wow. Okay, um. You guys take care of each other, all right?”

“We will,” Mike said. “And we’ll come back for you after we kick this echo’s ass.” 

“Yeah!” Jay said.

Rich smiled. His lips were trembling and his eyes were watery. He sniffled, sighed, and opened the black door. 

There was more darkness within, but it wasn’t the dark of the night outside. An eerily familiar scent hit Mike before his eyes could adjust to the dim glow from within this space. It was the smell of water: a very particular sort of water. He squinted and edged toward the threshold, spotting what looked like an amusement park ride carriage on a narrow waterway that flowed into a dark tunnel. There was a molded plastic door on the carriage, hanging open for them, and a cushioned seat inside. 

“Is this some kind of Disney ride?” Jay asked, again saying what Mike was thinking. 

“Kinda,” Rich said. “It’ll take you to the Director.” 

Mike turned to Rich and nodded. It made some kind of weird sense, like everything Rich had told him over the years. He clapped Rich on the shoulder, then pulled him in for a hug. 

“Thanks for everything,” Mike said when he stepped back. 

Rich was sniffling again, wet-eyed. “Aw, jesus,” he said, voice pinched. “You boys be careful in there. Don’t let him win.”

They stepped inside the ride chamber and the black door slid shut behind them, its boundaries disappearing into the darkness as soon as it was closed. A soft light emanated from below the waiting carriage, which was the only vehicle in the tunnel. The water beneath it smelled just like the Disney rides that Mike had some borrowed cultural memory of: ancient and strangely alluring, like a whisper from below. 

Mike climbed in first. When Jay sat beside him, the little door on the carriage slid shut and the vehicle moved forward with a small jolt, as if sliding off a belt. It glided silently forward, the light from beneath it faintly illuminating the waterway just ahead and the unmarked walls that lined the tunnel. 

Mike scooted closer to Jay and reached over to hold his hand. They could hear music playing up ahead, still quiet and far away. There was no end in sight to the tunnel, and it was curved in places, the carriage moving along smoothly through the water. 

“Still got the hammer?” Mike asked, his mouth beginning to feel dry.

“Yep.” Jay’s voice was tight. He squeezed Mike’s hand. “Do you think there will be, like, animatronics up ahead?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you think they’ll, like, try to kill us?”

“I doubt it. Rich would have warned us about that.” 

As they got closer to the music, Mike expected to at least see paintings on the walls, but they remained blank and no animatronics appeared. The music was familiar, beautiful and moving. He’d definitely heard it before but couldn’t put his finger on where.

“Oh, shit,” Jay said, muttering this under his breath when they turned another corner and came in sight of what looked like the end of the ride: a massive pair of wooden doors with light spilling out around their edges. 

The carriage came to a stop at a narrow dock outside these doors, jolting into place. Mike was holding Jay’s hand so tightly that it had to hurt, and Jay was squeezing his just as hard. They were pressed together from shoulder to ankle, trembling more from the force of their grip on each other than from fear. They looked at each other, and then back at the wooden doors. Whatever their fate was, it was waiting for them in there. Mike could feel it. 

“Wait,” he said when Jay started to get up. “Hang on, just. I have to say something first.” 

“Mike--”

“No, Jay, listen. I need to go on the record with something right now, and it’s that you were the love of my fucking life and the best thing that ever happened to me.” 

“Don’t say that like we’re about to die!” 

“I'm not saying it like that. I'm saying it like we’re about to cross some kind of threshold and I don’t know what's on the other side, but on this side it was you, baby. You were the one.”

“So were you, for me. But don’t call me baby, ergh.”

“Sorry. It sounded right in my head.”

“I forgive you.” Jay tugged him over for a kiss. It didn’t last as long as Mike wanted it to, but he supposed they did have to get on with it. He knew somehow that those doors would open as soon as they stepped out of this carriage and onto the dock. “Don’t worry,” Jay said, his hands still cupped around Mike’s face. “Whatever happens in there, nothing can erase us. We lived, dammit. Somebody somewhere will remember. The thing in that room isn’t powerful enough to track down every trace of us and destroy it. Nothing is that powerful.”

Mike nodded, wanting to believe this. He stood up when Jay did, and they climbed out of the carriage together. As he’d predicted, the moment they both had their feet on the dock the giant doors started to creak menacingly, opening inward.

The music swelled overhead, as if taking a cue from the opening of the doors. Mike still couldn’t remember where he knew this song from, but it was definitely familiar, bombastic and romantic at the same time, instrumental. Like something from a movie. 

The room behind the doors was large and paved with sandy-colored stone blocks that lined the floor, walls and high ceiling. Torchlights that burned along the edges of the ceiling illuminated thick green vines growing over the walls in places, and at the back of the room there was a tiered stone pyramid with a glowing orb on top. In front of the pyramid there was a throne, wooden with gold accents. It was empty. 

Jay shuffled forward into the room. Mike followed him. They both jumped when they heard the doors creaking shut behind them. 

“Hello?” Jay called. Behind them, the music from the tunnel was beginning to fade out. 

“I don’t like this,” Mike said, muttering. “Something’s not right.” 

“What’s that thing up there?” Jay asked, pointing to the orb on top of the pyramid. There was something sparkling within it, moving as if suspended in liquid. 

“I don’t know.” Mike turned back and watched as the doors closed fully, both of them clapping back into place with a bang. He was tempted to ask again if Jay still had the hammer, but he knew that Jay had it, and was beginning to understand that it wouldn’t do shit against whatever was waiting for them in here. 

There was a soft cackle from behind the pyramid. The music outside had stopped, and with the doors shut behind them the lights that lined the ceiling of the room threw strange shadows. 

“Well, well,” a familiar voice said. Footsteps, then a shadowy figure stepped out from behind the pyramid: a slim, bearded man wearing a flannel shirt and jeans. “Virgo and Scorpio. At last we meet.” 

“Who and what?” Mike said, squinting. 

The man walked closer. He was smirking, smug, with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Those are my code names for you two,” he said. “Of course you don’t get it. Ha!”

“Oh my god!” Jay grabbed Mike’s arm and shook it. “Mike! That’s--”

“George Lucas,” Mike said, his mouth going dry as he finally spoke the name.

Lucas threw his head back and laughed. Mike felt like he’d suddenly been submerged in ice cold water from the neck down. He hadn’t recognized Lucas at first, as he appeared to be about thirty years old, still dark-haired and trim with a shaggy black beard. Mike had always associated him more with the older, dead-eyed Lucas from the prequel documentaries onward. Lucas’ laughter died off and he walked forward, grinning. Mike recognized the music from the tunnel now. It had been a combination of Star Wars and Indiana Jones movie soundtrack themes.  

“So,” Lucas said, hands on his hips. “You’ve decided to face me at last. A noble choice, to be sure. But not a very wise one.” 

“Sorry, wait,” Jay said, holding up his hands. “What the fuck is happening?”

Lucas snickered. 

“Oh, you’re sorry, are you? I don’t think you’re nearly sorry enough. But no matter. Now that you’ve waltzed right into the trap I set for you, like the cud-chewing bumpkins you are, I can finally get down to the business of getting rid of you once and for all.” 

“This isn’t some trap,” Mike said, scoffing. “We came here deliberately. And you’re gonna be fuckin’ sorry we did. We’re not afraid of you.”

“Yeah!” Jay said. “We never have been!”

“You should be, boys. You should be.”

Mike got the sense that this was true, at least based on what Rich had told him and his genuine fear for them, but he wasn’t going to roll over for this asshole, no matter how powerful he was in this realm. He just needed to think of a plan, and therefore needed to stall. 

“So the people we’re echoing made fun of your stupid prequels,” Mike said. “So what? We’re not even those same guys, fyi.” 

“You think I don’t know that?” Lucas said. “Ha! Like I’d waste my time over a few puny humans. You two are much bigger fish that need frying.”

“Ugh,” Jay said, leaning over to whisper in Mike’s ear: “His dialogue is terrible.” 

“You little shits are the dark legacy that’s slipped through my fingers for too long,” Lucas said, either ignoring Jay’s criticism or not having heard it; it was hard to tell. “All because of that meddling god I tried to enslave.”  

“How did the echo of George Lucas manage to enslave a god?” Mike asked. He was looking around the room as surreptitiously as he could, hoping Lucas wanted to talk at length about his genius or his elaborately planned vengeance or whatever. 

“Well, clearly, I didn’t,” Lucas said, and he scoffed as if Mike was slow for missing this. “Seeing as he betrayed me and pointlessly stalled my plans for millions of years.”

“But how were you ever in the position of sending him back in time on a mission?”

“I knew I’d need one of the old gods if I had any hope of smearing you two out of the entire history of the universe. So I drew him into my circle of influence. He’s not even hard to manipulate. You morons managed it, after all.” 

“We didn’t manipulate Rich,” Jay said. “We were just nice to him! Sorta!”

“Yeah, he’s our actual friend. That’s why he liked us better than you, idiot.” 

Lucas scoffed. “Please. He was lost to me once he became human. I should have foreseen that, but it’s no skin off my ass now. I’m immortal. All I had to do was bide my time until you two broke out of the little cage he made for his favorite pets. In trying to save you, he delivered you right to my doorstep.”

“You just live in this room?” Mike said, using this as an excuse to look around. From what he could see, there was no exit other than the big doors behind them, unless there were more doors behind the pyramid. “Alone?”

“Oh no. You see, when you’re as powerful an echo as me, you can move freely in the real world, interact with other god-level beings, go wherever you like. The outside world has long been my oyster.”

Jay cringed, presumably at Lucas’ dialogue. 

“This place is just a cheap set I designed for you two,” Lucas said. “I knew you’d grow weary of Cupid’s sentimental games eventually and find a way out. But there is no way out, gentlemen.” Lucas grinned and pointed at the top of the pyramid. “You see that charming snow globe up there? That’s what you left behind when you stepped aboard my ride. Your entire universe, contained in a trinket that I possess. I might not have been able to make Cupid a faithful servant, but I still control his powers, and when he made that shithole Milwaukee bubble world for you two, he made it on my turf.” 

“Maybe so,” Mike said. “But it’s still Rich’s essence that created it, and he did that out of real love for his friends. That counts for something.” 

“Ha! Does it?” Lucas was circling them now, menacing. “You think Cupid is really in control of anything in there, shacked up in some dumpy warehouse and playing make believe? The rumors of his creative influence are bullshit! _I’m_ the one who should get credit for that place, and for the sappy, embarrassing love story you two played out over and over. Assassinating your characters with cheesy crap was all part of my plan.” 

“Yeah, right,” Jay said. “You wish.” 

Mike didn’t believe this either. Lucas could pretend he’d had some grand plan for them, but it was obvious now that he’d just been playing it by ear all along, lazily awaiting their arrival and taking credit for things that weren’t part of his vision. 

Realizing this gave Mike an idea. It was terrifying, so he put it aside and tried to think of something else, though he had the sinking feeling that his initial impulse was the only real option. 

“I don’t even get why you care so much that we existed,” Jay said. “Just because our media content became more respected than yours?”

“Ha!” Lucas threw his head back and laughed again. It seemed a little forced this time. “Is that what your fat friend told you? That your content was uniquely important, that people studied and cherished it, and that’s why you’re still around? Don’t make me laugh. He kept you around solely for himself, because you reminded him of his friends. Nobody remembers you. Except--” Lucas sneered, his lip twitching beneath his bushy mustache. “In relation to me.” 

“We’re the one black mark on your legacy,” Mike said, now just trying to keep Lucas talking. “In your view, anyway.” 

“I’m not saying I didn’t go too far in a few places,” Lucas said, teeth grit. “But to have my legacy inextricably bound up with you bastards is a fate worse than irrelevance. I’m a man of action, however, so rather than letting it eat at me, I took steps to correct what once went wrong.” 

“You can’t just alter time and space because someone criticized you once!” Jay said. “And the people we’re echoes of said some nice things about you, too.”

“No!” Lucas walked forward, finger pointed at Jay in a way that made Mike step between them. “They said ‘nice things’ about some of the movies I made, but only as part of a trend to give all the credit to others and imply I was just some bumbling asshat who tripped into greatness because collaborators fixed his mistakes! That’s your true sin, and that’s why you must be destroyed.”

“Because we’re an actual threat to your echo,” Mike said. 

“Ha! No! No, I didn’t say that! It just gets under my skin, and since I have the power to erase you, why not go back and change what needs changing? It’s only a matter of time now that you’re here in my temple. Once I’ve disposed of you, you’ll be forgotten like the frauds you always were. From where I’m standing you two are already just a couple of low-level ghosts.”

Mike didn’t buy this. He glanced again at the orb atop the pyramid. His heart felt heavy, knocking hard against his chest. There was only one way out of here. 

“If you could destroy us yourself,” Mike said. “You would have done it already.”

“Oh, I’m in no hurry. I intend to enjoy this.” 

“Jay, use your powers!”  Mike said, already edging toward the base of the pyramid. 

“My what?” Jay said, shoulders jumping. 

“Powers?” Lucas said, laughing. “Him? Give me a break. Power bottom, maybe. Heh!”

“Your powers, Jay!” Mike shouted, making a big production of this so Lucas wouldn’t notice what he was about to try to do. “The same ones you used on me! Use them on him!” 

Jay glowered at Lucas. Mike hoped he’d gotten the right idea and wasn’t just angry about that power bottom comment, though maybe if he was it would help.

Mike dashed for the base of the pyramid as soon as he saw it working: Lucas’ gut ballooned out like it had been inflated from within, popping the buttons on his flannel shirt. Lucas shouted in horror and reached back to cover his ass when his jeans split open. 

“What are you doing to me?” Lucas asked, eyes wide. “It can’t be, no-- This version isn’t the one people remember! It’s not!”

He limped over to the throne and looked at his reflection in the shiny golden panel on the back of the seat, screaming with rage when he saw that he was bloated and grey all over, transformed into the legacy-spoiled late period Lucas. 

“It’s how _I_ remember you,” Jay said, smug. “An arrogant old man with an ill-fitting shirt. Thanks for reminding me, Mike.” 

Mike signalled to Jay not to draw any attention to him, as he was currently scrambling up the side of the pyramid, hoping that Lucas would be distracted by his altered appearance long enough to allow Mike to reach the orb on top. Fortunately, Lucas didn’t turn and see him. Less fortunately, it was because he was entirely focused on Force-choking Jay.

“Stop!” Mike shouted, freezing in place with just a few steps between him and the orb. 

Jay dropped to his knees before Lucas, grabbing at his throat in a panic while Lucas cackled and held his hand out in Jay’s direction, fingers pinching inward as he choked away Jay’s breath. 

“You two think you’re so clever,” Lucas said. “You really thought you were any match for a real cultural icon? You saw what I reduced Cupid to! By the time I’m done with you, he won’t even recognize his precious Mike and Jay.” 

Mike had no choice: he didn’t have time to race back down the pyramid and stop Lucas from choking Jay. He was far closer to the orb, so he threw himself toward it, taking the last few steps up the pyramid in sprawling leaps. He grabbed the orb from its platform and hoisted it over his head, breathless. Jay was far more urgently breathless, turning purple down below. 

“Release him!” Mike shouted. “It’s over!” 

“It’s only beginning!” Lucas said, but when he turned and saw that Mike holding the orb, his eyes went wide and he shouted in wordless fear, releasing the Force chokehold. Jay gasped for air, still on his hands and knees but breathing now, with effort. 

Mike’s arms were trembling. He could barely support the weight of the orb after all that ladder climbing, and its surface was ice cold against his hands, so cold it felt like burning. Snow was falling inside it, onto their apartment building and the hipster cafe, the VCR repair shop and the warehouse where Rich had shown them the way out. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!” Lucas shouted, wild-eyed. “Put that down! You’ll destroy us all!” 

“Maybe,” Mike said, and he met Jay’s eyes. Jay was red-faced now, panting and wet-eyed. “Or maybe I’ll only destroy your last chance to get rid of us.” 

“Do it!” Jay said as loudly as he could manage, his voice scratchy and small. “Hurry, Mike!” 

The way Jay struggled to get Mike’s name out made him think of happier times. The happiest he’d ever known. Suddenly he wasn’t sure he didn’t just want eight hundred more of them, over and over, but there was no going back now. His eyes were wet, too, when he pitched the snow globe into the air as high as he could. 

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” Lucas screamed, dashing over to try and catch it.

He was too old and slow to reach it in time, thanks to Jay. The orb hit the stone floor and smashed into a million pieces. 

Mike felt the top of the pyramid drop out from under him, not crumbling but disappearing entirely into empty darkness. The last thing he saw before it overtook him completely was Jay, kneeling there wet-faced and smiling through his tears, his eyes lit up brighter than Mike had ever seen.


	7. Chapter 7

The next thing Mike saw was the sun glaring bright overhead. He blinked his eyes shut in discomfort and rolled over to sneeze. Something feathery was tickling his nose: grass. He was in an overgrown field somewhere, lying on his side and sneezing under a cloudless blue sky. 

Then suddenly Rich was in his face, shrieking with happiness and straddling him like a lunatic.

“Mike!” Rich pinned Mike’s shoulders to the earth and laughed, hysterical. He wasn’t as heavy as Mike had expected, and when Mike scowled up at him in confusion he realized this was a younger Rich than he had ever personally known, the original-looking one from the earliest records of somebody else’s exploits. He looked about eighteen years old and was beaming, almost frothing at the mouth with glee. “You beautiful motherfucker, you did it!”

“Did what?” Mike pushed Rich off of him. He was extremely disoriented, dizzy, and his mouth was dry. He felt like a piece of old gum stretched too thin between several different planes of existence. His eyes were taking a long time to adjust to the painfully abundant sunlight, as if they’d been out of use for a century or two. 

“Look at this!” Rich said. He knelt behind Mike and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. “Do you know where we are??”

“Fuck no.” Mike also wasn’t sure when they were, or how, or why, for that matter. He squinted around and saw that the field they were in was sprawled over rolling hills spotted here and there with wildflowers. He could hear a river flowing nearby, obscured by the tall grass, and in the distance there were cliffs and a waterfall, a few people milling around near the lagoon that the waterfall pounded into.  

“This is where I was hanging out when Lucas found me!” Rich said, or was saying: Mike couldn’t make himself focus. He felt drunk. “He was hunting me,” Rich continued, now up on his feet and hopping around like a kid who’d had too much sugar. “Looking for a chump to do his dirty work. See, he had this golden lasso-- Oh, who fucking cares! Mike! This is an actual planet in the real world! We’re free!”

Rich did a kind of clumsy standing backflip and laughed when he stumbled down onto all fours afterward. Mike felt a melted thing reform in the center of his chest when he remembered the last time he’d seen Rich, in that warehouse at the end of all things, and what had happened next. 

“Where’s Jay?” Mike asked, scrambling to his feet. The hard thing in his chest got cold and sharp, but before it could stab straight through him Rich pointed across the open field. 

Jay was about as far away from Mike as he’d been in that room with the pyramid and the orb, sitting in the grass and blinking around at their new surroundings with confused amazement. Mike raced toward him, possibly while making an embarrassing whimpery noise of relief. Jay turned when he saw him and smiled. He looked like the prize at the end of something extremely difficult, sitting there in the flowering grass with a sheen of sunlight reflecting off his hair. But he’d been there the whole time and this was his prize, too, which made everything better. 

“Oof,” he said when Mike dove into his arms, landing hard on his knees and knocking Jay onto his back. “Where are we? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I don’t know, but yes.” Mike framed Jay’s face with his hands, hunched over and just short of kissing him. “Are you?”

“Mhmm, I think so?”

“Is your throat all right? Oh, shit.” Mike whirled around and scanned the field. Rich was levitating and laughing to himself, clearly restored to his powers. “Where’s Lucas?”

Jay sat up. Mike kept hold of him, shield-like, as he searched the area for any sign of their nemesis. 

“Don’t worry!” Rich called, floating toward them. “If you’re looking for old George, you won’t find him here. He’s been banned from this entire quadrant of the galaxy.”

“Why is Rich flying?” Jay asked, whispering this into Mike’s ear. 

“I think he’s Cupid again.” 

“So how come he still looks like Rich?”

“Good question. I think he may have gone slightly insane while we were inside the snow globe.” 

Jay turned to Mike, who could no longer resist: he kissed Jay’s face a few dozen times before Rich reached them. He felt almost frantic with the relief of how warm and solid Jay was, nothing of him lost.

“Oh, good!” Rich said. He was wearing a Bears jersey, jeans and work boots, not looking very Cupid-like aside from his restored youth and ability to fly. “You’re still in love, aw, that’s sweet. I wasn’t sure it would last, out here.” 

“Well what would you know about it!” Mike said, angered by the suggestion. He glanced at Jay and resisted the urge to ask: You still love me, too, right? 

Jay was looking at Rich. “Who banned Lucas from this place and where is he now?” he asked.

“He’s crawled back to his home realm to lick his wounds. It’s a kind of Skywalker Ranch planet where he rules absolutely, but his reputation has taken a big blow in the wider world, thanks to you two. My fellow elementals banished him from immortal-occupied territory after they realized what happened to me. Even they couldn’t save me from that arcane contraption. Only you guys were able to do that!” Rich looked at Mike with amazement. “How did you know that we’d be freed if you smashed the orb?” 

“I didn’t know,” Mike said. “I just felt it, I guess.” 

“Is Lucas going to find us again?” Jay asked.

“Eh, he might try, but bending time and space and kidnapping a god dented his reputation and therefore his powers, so he can’t touch you.” 

“So what now?” Jay asked. He looked down at the front of his shirt. It was the VCR repair shop one, but this version seemed cleaner and like it was made from some finer fabric. The one Mike was wearing seemed to have undergone the same kind of upgrade.

“Now we’re truly free to do whatever we want!” Rich said, still wild-eyed with glee. “And I’m a god again, so you’ve got yourself a mighty fine friend in me. Watch this!”

He snapped his fingers. Mike and Jay both shouted and scrambled backward when a massive starship appeared over the field, hovering just a few hundred feet up. 

“Ha!” Rich said, looking at it. “Beautiful!” 

“What the hell is that?” Mike asked, a tiny seed of hope sprouting in his chest. The ship was metal-gray and from this angle it looked like a Galaxy-class vessel right out of Star Trek. 

“It’s your own personal starship!” Rich said, zipping upward and extending his arms toward it. “And we can take it wherever you want! You can explore the _real_ galaxy, just like you’ve always dreamed about. I’ve been pretty much everywhere, so. I could be your navigator, if, you know. If you want.” 

Mike hardly knew how to respond. His eyes welled up and his heart felt burstingly full. It was too much to even comprehend, everything he wanted: Jay at his side, Rich restored to his full glory, and the whole galaxy open ahead of them. 

“Of course I’d want you as my navigator,” Mike said when he could speak again. “Is this for real?”

“Real as it gets!” Rich said. “Feel free to come aboard and check out the ship. I think you’ll find everything just where you’d expect to, if you catch my drift.” 

“It’s a Star Trek ship,” Mike said. He was grinning, glassy-eyed with wonder. It was embarrassing, but he couldn’t help it.

“Yep,” Rich said, also grinning. “Think of it as my thank you gift for helping me out of there.” 

“What do you say?” Mike asked, turning to Jay, who looked confused again. “We could be co-captains.” He felt like he was joking, but he wanted this to be true, all of it.

“Hang on, just-- Wait.” Jay extracted himself from Mike’s grip and stood, boggling up at the ship and then at Rich before turning in a circle to take in their surroundings, his palm going to his forehead. “Are we sure it’s real this time? I mean, really?”

“Just try to live linearly and you’ll see,” Rich said. “I promise, it will all flow in one direction from now on, no loops and no missing memories. You’ll have to take my word for it until you experience a stretch of real time, of course.” 

“It’s worth a try,” Mike said, standing. His legs felt wobbly. “Right?”

“Sure.” Jay licked over his teeth, touched his beard, and gave Rich a suspicious glance. “Do we have to decide right now? Can we have a minute?”

“A minute for what?” Mike asked. The hopeful seedling in his chest was starting to wither, clouds gathering over its source of light. 

“You don’t have to decide anything in particular,” Rich said. “But we do need to clear out of this area sooner rather than later. It’s supposed to be for elementals, and while it’s not _technically_ against the rules to make other entities immortal with our powers, the really ancient ones can be sort of snobby and dickish about it.” Rich lifted his chin to indicate the figures gathered near the distant lagoon. The sudden appearance of an enormous starship seemed to have attracted their attention. 

“So we’re immortal again,” Jay said, sounding less bummed about it now. “Or, still, I guess.” 

“That’s right,” Rich said. “For good this time! I’d credit myself, but it was really a team effort. Well done, everybody.” 

Jay started pacing, arms crossed over his chest. Mike stood watching him, not sure where his growing sense of dread was coming from. 

“What’s the matter?” Mike asked. 

Jay beckoned him over for a private conference. Rich took the hint and turned toward the ship, lowering it down toward the meadow.

“Why are you freaking out?” Mike asked. Jay’s gaze was darting around as if they were cornered, not freed. “Lucas can’t hurt us anymore. We beat him, we won.” 

“It’s not that.” 

“Then what? Jay, jesus christ! Isn’t this what you wanted? We’re out! We can do anything now, go anywhere!”

“Sure, but-- I don’t know, it’s like, if we go with Rich we’re still counting on him to explain everything to us just like he did inside the loop.” 

“You seriously want to ditch the ancient elemental who can snap his fingers and give you anything you want?”

“No! I mean, but. Yeah, though. Sorta. At least for a little while.” 

“Why??”

“Because I want to try and figure things out for myself for a change! Especially if I’m immortal and have literally all the time in the world to do it.” 

Mike groaned. Typical Jay, having to complicate everything. 

“Fine,” Mike said. “But we can do that aboard this magical starship, can’t we?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’d rather wander around by myself for a while, and see, you know. What that’s like.” 

_By myself_. The words struck Mike so hard that he stepped backward. He could feel the color draining from his face. Jay bit his lip and gave him an apologetic, nervous look. 

“What are you saying?” Mike asked, though he knew. He could feel it, as if he’d lost a layer of himself already, everything underneath more raw and exposed than before.  

“Mike, don’t freak out.” 

Jay reached for him. Mike shuffled backward and evaded his hands, still in shock. Despite his worry, he hadn’t actually thought Jay would shrug and be done with him just because they’d been thrust into the real world. It seemed impossible, especially after what they’d just been through. 

“You’re sick of me already?” Mike said. “Just like that?”

“No! I’m not sick of you at all. I just think this is an opportunity to really figure out who and what the fuck we actually are. And if we stay together, we won’t be able to, not really. You know what I mean?” 

Mike shook his head. He turned toward Rich, who was floating near the entry ramp to the ship as it lowered toward the ground. It was all right there, the stuff of Mike’s wildest dreams, but suddenly it looked like a cruel joke.

“What if I let you be captain?” Mike said, turning back to Jay. “I could just be head science officer.” 

“Mike--”

“Or we don’t have to get on the ship at all, if you’d rather wander the countryside like hobos. I’m not gonna _make_ you play Star Trek with me, it’s not required for us to stay together, if it’s such a big fucking dealbreaker--”

“Mike! It’s not about the ship or any of that, or even wanting to be away from you. I don’t! It’s fucking terrifying! But that’s also why we have to try it, don’t you think? Not forever, of course. Just to see what it’s like.” 

Jay’s resolute yet pleading expression was unfamiliar. Mike felt like he was going to hurl. In acknowledging this, he realized he’d never eaten actual food in the real world before, and the thought made him certain that puking was imminent, despite the fact that he’d presumably have nothing to barf up. He leaned over to put his hands on his thighs and tried to breathe normally. 

“What’s going on?” Rich called. “You guys ready to go? I’m getting angry stares from the ancient ones over there.” 

“Just a minute!” Jay had the nerve to sound annoyed at Rich, after everything. Was nothing sacred to him, suddenly? Had it never been? “I know it seems insane right now,” Jay said. “It does to me, too. But it also seems right, you know? How are we ever gonna be real people if we don’t spend some time apart?”

“We were already real people!” Mike said, roaring this as he straightened. 

Jay’s face turned pinkish. Mike could feel Rich staring at them, probably with some kind of wincing expression of sympathy. 

Maybe Jay was right that Mike didn’t actually know much about himself outside of their now-busted snow globe life and the constraints of everything he echoed, but he for damn sure knew that he wouldn’t stand for being humiliated, even by Jay. Especially by Jay!

“Fine,” Mike said, squaring his shoulders. “If that’s what you want. Great.” 

“I know you’re mad at me right now,” Jay said. “But it’s the only way the real world is going to feel different from that fake one. And then, when we see each other again--”

“Yeah, maybe that’ll happen, maybe not. I guess we’ll see how it shakes out.” 

Jay rolled his eyes. 

“It’ll definitely happen,” he said. “We’re immortal soulmates, Mike. All I want is the chance to figure my own shit out before we spend the rest of eternity together.” 

Mike wasn’t buying that, but hearing Jay say ‘soulmates’ softed his angry posture a little. He sniffed and looked back at Rich, who was hovering near the entry ramp of the ship, his thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his jeans. 

“I know it makes sense to you, even if you won’t admit it,” Jay said. “Because you get me. You always have.” 

Mike thought of a number of things he might say in response to that. Many of them were furiously angry in nature. Some of them were embarrassingly desperate. Ultimately he said nothing.

“You told me I’m the best thing that ever happened to you,” Jay said, his voice shrinking a little. “But I’m also the _only_ thing that’s ever happened to you, because of how our echoes were tied together. I guess I want to know if you’ll still feel that way after you’ve seen everything else in the universe. Or at least some of it.” 

“Great,” Mike said, tightly. “Fine.” 

“Fellas?” Rich said. “You want to hurry it up, please? There’s a wrath elemental over there that I used to have hate sex with. I’d rather not have to make small talk about my lengthy imprisonment by George Lucas if she comes over here.” 

“Jay isn’t coming,” Mike said, turning his back on Jay as he said so. “He’s got better things to do.” 

“Don’t be a dick,” Jay said, softly. “You know I’m right.” 

“Aww, seriously?” Rich said, shoulders sinking. “You’re sure?” 

“I just need to see what it’s like to live here on my own,” Jay said. “It’s the only way I can trust that this place is real.” 

“I can respect that,” Rich said. He shrugged when Mike glared at him. “You do need to exit this area, though. Want us to drop you off someplace?”

“Nah, I’ll walk.” 

Mike groaned. “Jay, you hipster fuck.” 

“What’s hipster-ish about walking?” Jay asked. He almost tried to smile, as if this was their usual back and forth chiding and not the end of the world. It didn’t quite take, and Mike ignored the question.

“Head that way,” Rich said, pointing to a sloping valley in the distance. “There’s a town over there, and they’ll get a real kick out of a human’s echo showing up and passing through all the immortals-only barriers. You’ll be like a mini-celebrity!” 

“Ugh. Okay.” Jay looked scared, and also like he was determined not to let it stop him. “Can you conjure a knapsack with some clothes and stuff in it for me? Basic supplies to get me started?”

“Sure thing, pal.” 

Rich gave Jay what he’d asked for. Mike stood dejectedly watching Jay paw through the contents of his freshly created backpack. From across the field, he could see the other elementals approaching. The varying weird humanoid shapes of them were enough to make Mike want to get on the ship and find a more hospitable planet to start out with, exploration-wise. 

“Well, that’s that, then,” Rich said, clearly impatient to leave. “All aboard the _U.S.S. Scottsdale_ , I guess.” 

“The what?” Mike said. 

“Uhh, I’ll explain later. Just get on board, okay?”

“I’d better head out,” Jay said when Mike looked at him again. His voice was a little pinched, cheeks red. “I’ll miss you,” he said.

“You don’t know that.” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

Then why leave, Mike wanted to scream. But he knew why. Jay wasn’t wrong to claim that Mike secretly understood his reasoning. Understanding didn’t make it hurt any less. 

“Have fun exploring the galaxy,” Jay said. He was blinking rapidly, also backing away. Mike wanted to give Jay shit for not even kissing him goodbye, but he knew Jay would rather die than express physical affection in public, even if the only witness was Rich. Ironically, or maybe masochistically, it was one of the things Mike loved about him. 

“How will we find each other again?” Mike asked, already giving up his pretense that maybe they wouldn’t. 

“Oh, I dunno. I doubt it’ll be that hard.” 

“How can you say that? There’s all of goddamn space out there!” 

“Yeah, but. Soulmates have gotta have some kinda homing beacon for each other, doncha think?”

Under normal circumstances, Mike would have made an attempt at a homo beacon pun. Too crushed to try it now, he just stood there watching as Jay gave him one last sad smile, turned toward the valley and walked away, backpack slung over his shoulder. 

“Psst,” Rich said, floating over to whisper in Mike’s ear: “You want me to intervene?” He held up a golden bow and arrow and waggled his his eyebrows. “Eh??” 

“No,” Mike said, hollowed out and hating the thought, even as he watched Jay go. “If he wants to come back to me, it’s got to be real.” 

“That’s what I love about you, Mike, your authenticity. Now get your ass onto this ship. You’re gonna love it.”

Mike felt like he would never love anything again. He turned toward the ship and frowned.

“Shouldn’t I use a transporter to get on board?” he asked. 

“I’m still getting reacclimated to my powers,” Rich said. He grabbed Mike’s shoulders and shoved him toward the ramp. “Trust me, you don’t want me conjuring anything as complex as a transporter just yet. I do appreciate the nit-picking, though. I’d expect nothing less from you.” 

Once they were aboard, Rich offered to give Mike a tour of the ship and introduce him to the crew, which seemed to consist of people from inside the snow globe. 

“So all these fuckers got immortal souls, too?” Mike asked, panicking a little when everybody looked too familiar.

“Oh no no no no,” Rich said. “They’re just handy appendages attached to me. They’re made of elemental ether and they’re here to do my bidding.”

“Okay. That’s creepy.” 

“Nah, you’ll get used to it! Just don’t try to fuck ‘em.” 

“Jesus!” Mike shuddered at the thought. “Why would I?”

“Because you just lost your bedmate? Sorry, too soon. But don’t feel bad for them, its in their very nature to love their jobs! Jim there is the CMO,” Rich said, pointing to the ex-liquor store guy as they passed him on their way to the bridge. “And you remember the Wizard, from the cafe? He’s the bartender! How about a celebratory drink?”

“Not yet.” 

Mike picked up the pace and rushed onto the bridge, postponing his appreciation for the attention to detail and accuracy of the Star Trek-inspired environs. Rich had obviously made this for him out of love. Mike felt bad for not being able to enjoy it yet. He hurried toward the viewscreen and scanned the surrounding countryside until he spotted Jay in the distance, walking alone through the meadow. From this elevation Mike could see something of the town Jay was heading toward, which was made up of low-lying buildings that each had a jewel-like glow.

“He’ll be okay,” Rich said, coming up behind Mike. 

“I know,” Mike said. He was more worried about himself, and couldn’t shake the feeling that he should shove Rich out of the way and run back down that ramp that had already retracted. The ship was ready for takeoff at Mike’s command, but it felt impossible to leave while his whole fucking heart remained down on there on the surface of the planet, walking in the opposite direction. 

“Ready to go?” Rich asked, patting his back. 

“Yes,” Mike said, because his heart wasn’t really down there with Jay. It was in his chest; he could feel it breaking. “Ensign Rich. Prepare for take off.” 

“Aye-aye, Captain!” 

Rich dashed over to the navigation panel to sit beside the pilot, a woman who had managed the sub shop inside the snow globe. Mike remained at the viewscreen, everything in him tensed with disbelief over his simultaneous luck and misfortune. As the ship gained elevation, Jay became only a speck in the distance. Without meaning to, Mike had pressed both hands to the screen. He thought of their snow globe world and how at one point he’d held all of it in his hands, only he hadn’t really, because by then Jay wasn’t in it, and without him it was just a useless trinket full of delusions. 

“Where to first, Captain?” Rich called. 

“You pick,” Mike said. “Surprise me. I’ll be in the bar.” 

He didn’t want to give his crew a bad first impression, but maybe that was a moot point, considering they knew him from the snow globe. Regardless, he couldn’t summon any inspiring leadership qualities just yet. Only when he reached the bar did he remember Rich telling him who the bartender was. The Wizard was wearing a Whoopi Goldberg-style hat and everything, bright purple. Mike withheld a groan and asked for a shot of tequila. 

“That’s a new one for you,” the Wizard said, pouring. “Long day, huh?”

“The love of my life just dumped me.”

“Oof. That’s rough, buddy. But tomorrow is another day.” 

“Thanks, Scarlett.” 

“You’re welcome, Captain. And the name’s Josh, actually.”

“What happened to the Wizard?” 

“Eh, I don’t know. Now that I have a corporeal form, I think Josh is more fitting.” 

“Sure. Sorry I said I hated you before. I don’t, actually.” 

“I know, buddy.” Josh poured him another shot. “And I appreciate that.” 

After three more shots, Mike felt somewhat better. He asked for a Klingon bloodwine and was authentically delighted when Josh produced one.

“Life’s funny,” Mike said, slurring a little. “But I guess I wouldn’t know.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean about life, man. This is technically my first day of it.” 

“Oh, true. Cheers to that!” 

Mike raised his glass and drank. In the morning he would be hungover and still heartsick, but he would also be in space aboard his very own starship, ready to begin his actual life. 

“I wonder if Jay misses me yet,” Mike said later, listing on his feet as Rich helped him to his quarters. 

“I’m sure he does,” Rich said. 

“Ey Rich, you know, you-- You’re my best friend, man.” 

“And you’re mine! Everything’s gonna be okay, pal. You’ll see.” 

Mike mumbled something unintelligible even to himself and did his best to hope that could be true. Maybe it was just the booze, but as he flopped onto his brand new Star Trek bed, he felt somewhat optimistic. He wasn’t the biggest fan of self discovery, but discovering other things would be worthwhile, maybe even fun. He could have fun without Jay. He’d have the funnest fucking time in the history of the universe. Jay would read about his exploits in the interstellar news and be sad that he wasn’t cool enough to join in. 

After his initial drunken pass-out Mike tossed and turned and finally just lay awake, uncomfortably aware of the empty space on Jay’s side of the bed, which he couldn’t bring himself to occupy. He felt like hell: what a waste of a first day spent living his ultimate fantasy! What would the crew think of him after this display? Were they whispering tonight about how their captain came on board only to get drunk, moan about his love life, and pass out in bed?

“Lights, twenty percent.”

Mike sat up and rubbed his hands over his face. He went to his room’s replicator and ordered a bottle of water. It tasted clean and pure and like a resolution: he wasn’t going to remain tethered to his echo-based self out here in the real world, drunkenly stumbling around and mooning over Jay, who was right. They had to ditch all that if they had any hope of becoming actual, full-fledged people. 

It still depressed him a little to imagine this happening, because what if the people they became while apart weren’t soulmates anymore? Was that even possible? 

But if Jay was brave enough to risk it, so was Mike. He finished his bottle of water and headed into the en suite bathroom to check out the shower situation. It was the first day of the rest of his life, his opportunity to finally boldly go somewhere, and he was going to learn how to stop wondering what Jay was doing every few minutes, even if took him a thousand years. 

**

 

[[[ [INTERMISSION](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ngZh6ZSRoYg) ]]]

 

**

Measuring the passage of time in space was a slippery business. Rich claimed this was doubly true for immortals, but even after recording 4,580 days in his captain’s log, Mike didn’t feel especially attuned to his immortality. He marked off his days aboard the ship according to the old twenty-four hour Earth cycle, out of sheer nostalgia and also because he was still in the habit of needing to sleep every sixteen hours or so in order to feel sane. Even Rich, who had been around since time immemorial, sometimes took naps. 

“Sleep is a gift both from and for the gods,” Rich said. “Can’t imagine living forever without being able to shut down once in a while. If you ever want to take a break for, say, ten thousand years, just lemme know. That’s no problem for an immortal.” 

Few things were, Mike had found, and it unnerved him a little even as he enjoyed the benefits. He could go anywhere in the known universe whenever he wanted and for whatever reason, and only his personal moral code restricted what he could do when he got there. The one thing that kept him feeling human and grounded despite all this was the particular combination of missing Jay and also being too prideful and wounded to go looking for him. 

If he went by the days marked in his captain’s log, it had been over twelve years since they’d seen each other. Their separation felt both as if it couldn’t possibly have endured for that long and like it had happened eons ago in some alternate dimension. Rich had offered several times to use his network of elemental contacts to pinpoint Jay’s location, but Mike kept delaying this, mostly because he knew through reports from that same network that Jay was fine, that he had made new friends and was having his own adventures. Meanwhile, there was nothing stopping Jay from hailing the _Scottsdale_ and chatting with Mike via viewscreen. The ship’s comm coordinates were a matter of public record.

Mike tried not to think about it. He wasn’t as immature and filled with petty envy as he’d been when he was Lucas’ prisoner inside that snow globe, where Jay had felt like his only source of precious light. Still, it wasn’t easy to untangle himself from Jay’s memory, especially when trying to explain what he was and where he came from. 

“You probably haven’t heard of it,” he found himself saying, again, when lingering at a dive bar on a newly settled planet that was catalogue-named E00-23. They’d stopped for a shore leave for alpha-shift crew and had already stayed two days longer than planned because of a violent sandstorm that might interfere with being transported back up to the ship. 

“You should talk to my friend,” the settler he sat across from said. She was a beautiful humanoid with big eyes and purple, cape-like hair that floated around her like a force field. “I don’t know where she went,” she said, craning her slender neck to scan the crowd in the bar. “But she knows all about Earth.” 

“Really?” Mike turned and searched for this person, too, though he had no idea what she looked like. He assumed she would be similarly beautiful and human-shaped, as most other creatures in this bar were from the indigenous population, squat and somewhat resembling jellyfish. “Is she an academic?” he asked when he saw only jellyfish people. 

“No!” The purple-haired settler laughed at the question. “Not remotely.” 

“Earth history isn’t something most people I run into know much about.”

“Well, I don’t know about the history, but she likes the culture.”

Mike wasn’t sure what the difference was, since Earth was long gone.  It was unheard of that anyone actually spoke a language from that planet, but occasionally he could find someone, like this person, whose auto-translate implant included Old Earth Languages. He drank from the burning rubber-tasting liquor he’d been served and tried again to explain that he wasn’t from Earth, exactly. 

“I’ve never actually been there,” he said. “I’m just an Earth-based echo that manifested in the real world.” 

“Cool,” purple hair said, not really listening. “You look like a real old-fashioned human.”

“I basically am one, uh, physically.” Mike wasn’t sure if he hoped she was hitting on him or not. Sex with random humanoids could be more complicated than it looked before everybody took their clothes off. “It’s a long story,” he said. 

“If your echo was famous enough to coalesce out here, I must have heard of your origin media.” 

“Nah, we were mostly just connected to the echo of this much bigger media, and then our would-be assassin, who was sent back in time by that media’s echo to destroy us, ended up becoming friends with our originating humans on Earth, and he, uh, well, he was the one who was really keeping us, their echoes, around--” 

“Oh, there she is!” Purple-hair waved her friend over, looking relieved to have an opportunity to interrupt Mike’s rambling origin story. “She’ll recognize you for sure. She just got back from a trip to Earth.” 

“She-- What now?”

Mike whirled around to see the person purple-hair was waving to. A humanoid of the same species whose hair glowed with a slightly bluer hue was making their way toward them with a pair of fresh drinks in her hands. 

“You can’t possibly have been to Earth,” Mike said, spitting this out before blue-hair had even been introduced. 

“Huh?” Blue-hair glanced at her friend before giving Mike an appraising once-over. “Whoa, you’re human!” 

“I’m not-- Well, sort of. Who told you that you’d been to Earth?” 

“Nobody _told_ me.” Blue-hair gave her friend a look. Purple-hair shrugged. “I went there on holiday,” Blue-hair said. “I just got back.” 

“Bullshit!” Mike said, without meaning to. He winced. “Sorry.” His heart was pounding just from the suggestion that there was an Earth he didn’t know about out there somewhere. Both of these glowy, hair-floaty humanoids were now looking at him like he was an asshole, which he supposed was true. “It’s just-- Earth is a lifeless rock.” He’d researched it himself, but hadn’t had the heart to bring the ship there for an in-person confirmation. “Why would you go there?”

“It’s hardly lifeless,” blue-hair said, scoffing. “It’s one of the most popular resorts in that quadrant. I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

“He’s an echo,” purple-hair said. “They get confused about reality.” 

“I’m not confused about this,” Mike said, forcefully enough that their estimation of him visibly dropped further. “Look, my echo originated from Earth. I’ve studied it extensively. That place is deader than dead.”

“Have you _been_ there?” blue-hair asked, her mocking tone implying that he certainly hadn’t. 

“No, because--”

“Well then, what do you know? I’ve been, and it was great. Very quaint little place, good food and decent entertainment.”

“Are you even talking about a planet?” Mike asked. “Or just some bar called Earth?”

“It’s a planet. Do you think I’m stupid?” Blue-hair looked at her friend, frowning. “Why are you even talking to this guy?”

“I thought you’d like him because he’s human, and you like Earth so much!” 

“Well, he’s demented.”

“Yeah, I didn’t know.” 

They both then reverted to speaking in their own language, turning off their auto-translate so that Mike couldn’t understand. Mike attempted to apologize and ask further questions, but they were totally off him by then, picking up their drinks and heading to another table. 

Mike threw back the remainder of his drink and headed for the door to check the status of the sandstorm. He cursed under his breath when he saw it was still raging, blanking out the sky. His heart was thudding violently and he was gritting his teeth, already bracing himself for a confrontation with Rich. He’d thought that Rich had stopped lying to him back in that warehouse inside the snow globe, but something was off. That blue-haired person was certain she’d been to Earth, and the purple-haired one had recognized him as human therefore. It hadn’t struck him as particularly odd at first, but it was rare that people knew what humans were and also behaved so casually about running into one. Maybe that was because Rich had thus far only navigated him to places where he wouldn’t be recognized, because he was still hiding something. Only lately had Mike started choosing locations for exploration himself, having become familiar with the star charts. 

By the time the sandstorm finally subsided, Mike was exhausted, hungry, and filled with paranoia about what Rich might be keeping from him this time, and why. This growing suspicion that his best friend couldn’t be trusted also made him miss Jay very acutely, which only increased his fury as he transported aboard the ship at last and made his way toward Rich, who was waiting at the transporter console and smiling like he had no sense that Mike might have been tipped off to his Earth-concealing scheme.

“Welcome back!” Rich said. He went from floating a few feet off the ground to standing upon it, a habit he had when talking with Mike. As if he wanted them to be equals.

Mike sneered. “We need to talk.” 

“Okay. About what?”

“Follow me to my quarters.” 

“Aye, Captain,” Rich said, jokingly but with an edge of concern. He floated alongside Mike’s hurried gait, peering at him curiously all the way there. 

“What haven’t you been telling me about Earth?” Mike asked, whirling on Rich as soon as the door of his front room was shut behind them. He felt ragged and newly torn open, remembering what it was like to be abandoned by Jay in that Elysian meadow twelve years ago and bracing himself to be betrayed again.

“Earth?” Rich made a face and shrugged, apparently just confused. “Nothing in particular. What happened? You’re mad at me?”

“I ran into someone down there who claimed she just went to Earth last week. She seemed pretty fuckin’ sure that she’d been there.” 

“Ohhhhh,” Rich said, in a way that made Mike both angrier and more confused. “She’s probably talking about Earth 2.” 

“Earth 2?? What the fuck!”

“Calm down! It’s just a kind of amusement park planet constructed to resemble the Earth of the olden days. A tastemaker in the neighboring quadrant visited recently, and suddenly it’s trendy to go there on vacation.” 

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this?” 

“I didn’t realize you were so keen on Earth nostalgia!” 

“Bitch, are you for real?? I _am_ Earth nostalgia!” 

“All right, stop shouting! Ugh.” Rich sighed, his feet coming to rest on the floor again. “Look, the other reason is that, uhhh. Every time I offer to tell you where Jay is, you say you don’t want to know, sooo. Yeah.” 

Mike felt something in his chest physically deflate. Maybe it was just the rage that had been ballooning there since he left that planetside bar. His shoulders sank and his vision tunneled. 

“Jay is there?” Suddenly it seemed obvious, as if his fury had sprung from half-knowing this.

“He isn’t just there,” Rich said. “He made the place.” 

Mike had to sit down. There was no furniture in his front room, so he sat on the floor. Rich adopted a cross-legged position in mid-air before hovering down to eye level. 

“Well,” Mike said, trying to come up with some reason to continue to dismiss the opportunity to go and see Jay. A rock-like thing at the back of his throat prevented him from vocalizing any of the flimsy excuses that came to mind. “Wait, why?” he asked when he looked up at Rich. “Why’d he make an Earth replica?”

“You’d have to ask him.” 

“Fuck you, Rich.”

“No, fuck you, Mike! What’s wrong with you? I’m taking us there. You can pretend it’s against your will if you want.” 

“That’s mutiny,” Mike muttered, with zero conviction. 

“Yeah, great. Just try throwing me in the brig, pal. See what happens.” 

Mike didn’t try. He went on sitting on the floor and having tunnel vision, panic seeming to cloud around him like a poisonous gas that prevented him from moving or breathing regularly. Logically, he wasn’t sure where the panic came from. So he would see Jay again after all these years. So Jay had made a replica of the Earth their echoes originated from. So what? What was Jay going to do? Kill him? Impossible. Break his heart again? How could he? That had been done already.

He remembered Rich saying long ago that Jay had picked at the seams of their snow globe reality, and now imagined Jay picking at the stitches on his patched-together heart, undoing them for his own sadistic pleasure. 

But Jay wasn’t like that. Was he? Mike wasn’t sure anymore. Over the years he’d gone back and forth between surety that Jay was the irrevocable other half of him, whether they ever saw each other again or not, and angry suspicion that Jay had only ever pretended to love him so that he would do the work of breaking them out of the snow globe, thereby setting Jay free to go off on his own and never look back. Did remaking Earth count as looking back? And what did Jay want to look back on, exactly, if it did?

Mike moped onto the bridge a few hours later. He’d showered and put on a fresh uniform, which for him was a solid blue TOS-style tunic over black pants and boots. He tugged down on the hem of the shirt and imagined Jay making fun of him for wearing this. The thought made him suddenly desperate to see Jay and be laughed at. Rich laughed at him sometimes, but it wasn’t the same.

“Sorry I yelled at you,” he said, mumbling this at Rich when he rose from the navigation console to float beside Mike’s captain chair. 

“Apology accepted,” Rich said. “Especially if you’re really going through with this overdue reunion. We’re on course to enter Earth 2’s atmosphere in just a little over an hour.” 

“God.” 

“Yes?” 

“I wasn’t-- Rich, shut up.” 

Rich cackled. “I’m excited!” he said. “I miss Jay.” He elbowed Mike. “See how easy that was for me to admit?” 

“You didn’t marry him eight hundred times and then get dumped by him unceremoniously after you’d saved his life.” 

“Fair enough. I’m just trying to make sure you won’t be a jerk and blow it when we get there.” 

“He’s the jerk! He blew it!”

Rich rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’re not exactly reassuring me here.” 

“How about acting like you’re on my side, huh? Am I really that much worse than him? He never fucking called. He’ll probably just be like, oh, hi, and awkwardly show me around his dumb Earth diorama before making some excuse about having other plans--” 

“Jesus, don’t be dense!”

“Why exactly should I expect anything else, Rich? After all these years?”

“You really thought he’d be the one to reach out to you? How often did that happen in the old days? Doesn’t mean he didn’t care, right?” 

“Maybe it means he cared less than me all along.” 

“Or that he doesn’t exactly wear his heart on his sleeve. Don’t you remember any of the wedding vows? You always wanted to recite some big speech about destiny and eyelashes and blah blah blah. He would just stand there melting from embarrassment and then mumble something barely audible about how happy you made him.”

“So what?” Mike rarely allowed himself to think about all that anymore. It seemed like a dream he had once, or at least like something he’d done while drugged-up on Cupid ether 24/7.

“People have different ways of expressing lasting devotion,” Rich said.

“Yeah, like running away and never looking back. That’s novel.” 

“Never looking back? Hoo boy, well. I guess you’ll just have to see it for yourself.”     

Rich returned to the navigation console. Mike sat with his elbow on one arm of his captain’s chair, chin in his hand. He watched the viewscreen without really seeing it. Rich’s mention of wedding vows felt like salt in an old wound, but it had also called up precious memories that Mike had tried to bury along with everything else. They weren’t memories of the stupid weddings, which, now that he thought about it, Jay had always hated, but of times when Jay’s heart had actually been on his sleeve, if only for a glimpsing moment and only ever when it was just the two of them. Every real flicker of hope inside that snow globe world was one of those tiny gestures from Jay that Mike would hoard as evidence that his feelings were returned, which had also felt like evidence that both of them were more than what the constraints of the globe allowed. 

He tried not to think about examples. Now was not the time. He didn’t want to be all soft when they got there. It was better to be cool and collected, to show how much he’d grown and moved on, just in case Jay had, too. Because of course he had. 

He couldn’t suppress the memory of his favorite of these moments, however. He couldn’t even say why it was his favorite, or remember what movie they’d been watching when it happened, just that once Jay had laughed so hard at some comment Mike had made that he’d tipped over from his side of the couch and slumped into Mike’s lap as if he was exhausted by joy, shoulders still bouncing. Mike had expected him to quickly right himself, wipe at the corners of his eyes, and move back into his own distinct Jay-space, but he’d stayed there so long that he pretended to fall asleep like that. Mike knew it was an act: he could feel Jay’s heart hammering against his leg. It was the pretending that meant the most to him, as if Jay thought he needed an excuse-- As if even after all the soppy shit Mike had done inside the snow globe, Jay’s estimation of him was still that great.

“Oh, god,” Mike said, mumbling this into his palm. He sat up straight and ran a hand over his hair. It was all still there, though graying at the temples despite his immortality. Rich said this was due to Mike experiencing the real world at last, not because he was actually aging. Mike wondered if Jay’s hair had done the same thing. He groaned under his breath. Jay’s stupid fucking hair! He hadn’t allowed himself to think about it in a while. It was surreal to imagine he was going to see it again soon.

The appearance of Earth 2 on the viewscreen took the air from his lungs and made him feel feeble with fear and excitement that hit him too hard, all at once. There were the blue seas and green land masses, thin bands of swirling clouds, everything bright with dewy, jewel-like newness as they approached. It brought a sheen of tears to Mike’s eyes, which annoyed him: why should he care this much? He’d never been to Earth. He was just a byproduct of something that had briefly taken place there. 

“Oh my godddd!” Rich said, probably trying to lighten the mood. “It’s beautiful!” 

“Looks like a standard life-supporting planet from here,” the pilot said. 

“You don’t understand!” Rich said. He grabbed her arm and shook it. “I lived there! As a human! Well, not there. But it looks damn near identical.”

Mike wasn’t sure he would be able to detect any discrepancies, though he’d studied old Earth maps quite fervently. He gripped both arms of his captain’s chair and gave the order to enter the planet’s atmosphere. Rich would navigate them to wherever Jay was without needing to be asked. As they drew closer to that place, soaring over landscapes that seemed both familiar and alien, Mike didn’t appreciate the looks of cautious sympathy that Rich kept casting back at him. Though then again, he did. 

“Milwaukee,” Rich said fondly when they were hovering over a handful of skyscrapers that overlooked a massive lake glittering under early morning sunlight. “I was born there! Well, my human vessel was conceptualized based upon events that took place there, anyway. Wow. Jay really did a good job.” 

“How the hell did Jay make a planet?” Mike’s voice was already kind of fucked up. He felt annoyed all over again and wanted to leave. 

“It’s not that hard if you have the right tools,” Rich said. “Advanced replicator and holodeck technology, to put it in Star Trek terms. When you merge that kind of tech you can make almost anything.” 

“Did he make the goddamn sun, too?”

“Nah, he just rented the orbit space.” 

“So Jay is rich now?”

“No more so than you.” 

In the post-scarcity economy, wealth was measured in reputation. Mike was a little miffed that Jay’s was apparently just as good as his, though maybe they were both still coasting on freeing Cupid from Lucas’ trap.

“Ready?” Rich asked, nudging him. 

Mike looked down at his uniform and contemplated changing back into the Lightning Fast VCR repair shirt for old time’s sake. He’d never gotten rid of it and had pictured himself wearing it in his many daydreams about how reuniting with Jay might go. Now that he was facing the reality, showing up in the shirt seemed much too lame. Any costume change for Jay’s sake would be like a concession, so he followed Rich to the transporter room wearing his usual vaguely Star Trek-ian getup, now less enthusiastic about the idea of being laughed at for it.

“You know that old debate about whether the person who beams down is actually still you or not?” Mike asked when he was standing on the transporter platform, trying to ignore the fact that his palms had gotten sweaty. 

“It’s tiresome,” Rich said. He was at the console, plugging in coordinates. “Quit stalling.” 

“I’m just saying, there’s something relevant to that insofar as whatever I am anyway.” 

“We can get philosophical about the nature of being later.” Rich punched in some coordinates and left Ensign Colin to do the rest, zipping over to take a spot for himself. “Ready to beam down at your command, captain!” 

“You’ve been wanting to go to Earth 2 for a while now,” Mike said. “Haven’t you?”

“Yeah, but I figured you’d come around eventually.” 

“You’re a good friend, Rich.” Mike turned back to Colin and gave him a nod. “Go ahead.” 

Transporting down to planet surfaces and space stations had never felt like being remade as a copy of himself, soul and all. Same went for beaming back onto the ship. But how could anyone ever know for sure either way? That was the real bitch of the thing. Rich insisted it didn’t matter, that Mike was thinking too linearly about the concept of being just as he thought too linearly about everything else. You’re the echo of a linear-thinking culture, Rich would say. Can’t be helped!

Mike felt the ground reform beneath his feet, inhaled cool lakeside air and opened his eyes to behold that culture for the first time, live and in person, for whatever the hell that meant. He had been in the presence of planetside structures much larger than the skyscrapers that towered overhead, but something about these ones made him feel small and nervous, in awe of the knowledge that they were man-made. 

“Old fashioned Earth oxygen!” Rich said, bouncing around happily already. “It’s so authentic!” 

Mike felt jealous of Rich’s ability to tell. To Mike this was just like any other breathable atmosphere near a freshwater lake. Perhaps the city smelled a little staler than the ones he was accustomed to, and maybe the sky was a little bluer than the blue skies he’d seen before, this segment of it totally cloudless for the time being. They had transported down to an industrial-zoned area that Mike already recognized, though it also looked so different from the one that Rich had built for them inside the snow globe. He couldn’t put his finger on why. This take on Earth was sharper, also scarier, more real in some way even beyond the literal. There seemed to be no boundaries around it, though of course everything had those, eventually. 

The detailing was better, or maybe just different: there were banners on the lampposts that advertised an upcoming Halloween parade, and a small health food store sat on the corner where a boarded-up old building had been on their snow globe street. It was alarming to see people he didn’t recognize from the snow globe wandering around, pausing here and there to capture images with their ocular implants and to peer at storefront displays in the commercial area across the street. 

“Awww, remember seasons?” Rich bent down to pick up a handful of dead leaves. “By the smell in the air and the temperature, I’d say it’s early autumn.” 

“Are you coming in with me?” Mike asked. He knew what he’d see when he turned around, and he wasn’t ready. 

“Nah.” Rich glanced in that direction and smiled fondly, almost looking like he’d cry. “I’m gonna go for a walk, have a look around. I’ll stop by later.” 

Mike nodded to himself. His vision had tunneled again, almost to the point that he felt like he’d grown eyes in the back of his head and already couldn’t see anything except what was waiting behind him. He knew this meant he might as well turn around. It wasn’t like he’d ever be ready, anyway.

He turned. The VCR repair shop was there where he’d expected, with the LIGHTNING FAST sign over the windows. Rich had oriented their transport beams so that they were facing away from it when they landed, which certainly wasn’t an accident. Now it was all Mike could see, the other details of his surroundings fading away like background noise. Papers covered the glass on the front door, and the blinds were closed over the windows. Among the papers plastered over the door was a small white sign with a blue border and black text: OPEN.

Mike walked forward as if propelled by the force of that word, slowly and without thinking. His ability to process thoughts or even distinct feelings was paralyzed by the irrational and already disproven fear that there would be a padlock on the door. There was nothing like that. When he put his hand on the worn metal handle and pushed, the door opened easily. The bell that rung as he entered was as authentic as any other detail. Jay must have tested and adjusted and tested again, until he got it just right. Either that or Mike was remembering wrong, only wanting it to be the exact same tinny ring from their old reality.

“Just a sec,” Jay said, without looking up. He was at the front counter, using a screwdriver to pry off the lid of some delicate inner chamber within a chunky old VCR. He was wearing the same Lightning Fast shirt he’d had on when he left, and had a grease smudge on his right cheek when he looked up at Mike and dropped his mini screwdriver into the guts of the VCR. His hair was fluffier and his beard was shorter. Otherwise he was the same, mouth hanging open to show what remained of the tooth gap, which only someone who’d known him as long as Mike had would look for after all this time.

“Whose VCR is that?” Mike asked, for no particular reason. His voice was steady, at least.

“Uhh.” Jay scratched his head and looked down at it. His cheeks were pink when he looked up at Mike again. “Just some customer, um. It’s 1988 here, perpetually.” 

“Oh, god. Of course it is.” 

Jay grinned. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“Like you didn’t know I’d have this on the next time we saw each other.” 

Jay turned fully red, and Mike shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants. He looked around at the shop, examining the posters on the walls as an excuse to break eye contact and pretend they both hadn’t worried that they might never see each other again. Now it seemed so stupid to have even waited this long. The shop was a perfect replica of the world they’d inhabited together in media-memory and inside the snow globe, every detail lovingly recreated. 

“So this is what you’ve been up to,” Mike said, hoping he didn’t sound judgemental. 

“It’s just a side project. I mean, it’s also, like. My house. I live upstairs.” 

“Upstairs?” Mike frowned up at the authentically yellowed ceiling tiles. 

“The second floor is invisible from the street. People are kind of weird about Earth 2 ever since it got popular. They were trying to look in my windows.” 

“Oh, so you’re famous now?”

“Unfortunately. Hopefully it’ll blow over soon. I read, um. That you helped negotiate peace between those two civilizations in the Gaia quadrant.” Jay made a face, cocked his head. “Am I pronouncing that right?”

“No, but it’s okay. Humans aren’t physically capable of pronouncing it right. Anyway, yeah. That happened. Rich helped.” 

“So I guess you’re famous, too.”

Mike shrugged. It didn’t seem true. He hated being recognized, even when it helped him get laid. He was sure Jay hated it, too. For a second he thought he would burst into sobs or get down on his knees or something else weird, but the impulse passed. He walked over to the counter and peered into the pried-open VCR. Jay was looking up at him, blushing and bright-eyed. 

“This is really cool,” Mike said when their eyes met. His voice had pinched only on the last word. “Earth 2, I mean. And the whole thing. Especially this place.” 

“Yeah?” Jay’s voice was messed up, too, at least. “It’s not pathetic?” 

“It’s cool _because_ it’s pathetic.” 

Jay grinned and looked down at the VCR. He fished out the mini screwdriver and carefully lifted the little panel he’d been working on away. Mike was standing close enough to smell a cheap 1988 shampoo and machine grease scent coming from Jay, also orange Fanta and something that reminded him so strongly of the bed they’d shared in that apartment that he could barely stop himself from leaning down to bury his face in Jay’s newly fluffy hair. 

“The drive belt needs to be respooled,” Jay said, pointing at the VCR innards with his screwdriver. 

“Why are you doing this?” Mike asked. 

“Doing what?” 

“Fixing a VCR in 1988 on Earth.” 

“It’s just a hobby. I find it relaxing. And I like the late eighties aesthetic. I know it’s corny and overplayed, but it feels like home to me. What are you doing here, Mike?”

“Are you fucking serious? What do you think?”

Jay looked up at him and exhaled through his nose, lips pressed together. He gave Mike a once-over and reached over to tug at the hem of his uniform shirt, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger as if he was inspecting the fabric quality. Right out of the gate, here was one of those weird little intimacies Jay offered up so rarely that they took on a monumental significance. Mike’s heart cracked open like an egg, but it didn’t hurt this time. 

“You asked a stupid question first,” Jay said. “Why am I doing this? Seriously? Hey, here’s a better question. What took you so long to get here?”

“You sent me away!” 

Jay shook his head and let go of Mike’s shirt. There was another tall barstool-style chair behind the counter, unoccupied. Just looking at it made Mike’s eyes well up. 

“I thought we had something to prove by being apart,” Jay said. “Maybe it worked. I made this place for you, obviously.” 

“Obviously??” Mike sputtered. He was ready to launch into a tirade about how none of what Jay thought was obvious ever had been, but then Jay gave him a look that was like _sorry_ and _I know_ all at once, so Mike just kissed him instead.

In Mike’s experience, which was significant, humans were the only lifeforms around who liked kissing. With no opportunity to do it for years, he’d almost forgotten why. It was irrational, embarrassingly hard to get right, even a little gross in theory. Now, however, he remembered: it was the way Jay's shaking hand came up to cup his cheek, and the half-swallowed little noise he made, the fact that he tasted like orange Fanta. It wasn't about the act itself so much as the quality of the person who kissed back, holding you close like he didn't want to stop.

“Sit,” Jay said when he pulled free, perhaps having sensed that Mike was on the verge of lifting him out of his chair, flinging everything off the counter and laying Jay out onto it. Jay pointed to the empty chair. “Let me finish my shift, okay?”

“Oh, god, your shift.” Mike was beaming. He sat in the chair beside Jay’s as if he was an exiled king who’d come back to claim his rightful throne. It felt that good, slotting back into place beside Jay. 

“Don’t you like space exploration?” Jay asked. He was holding his mini screwdriver but not doing anything with it, only staring at Mike with a soft, moony look that made Mike drag his chair closer. 

“Space exploration is great,” Mike said. “But twelve years of relative solitude is too long. I’m ready to join the regular poker game.”

“The what now?”

“It’s a Star Trek reference, Jay.” 

“Oh, god. Of course.” 

Jay turned back to his work, grinning down at the VCR as he carefully rewound its drive belt. Mike stared at him unabashedly and resisted the urge to reach over and touch him, wanting to reconfirm his solidity. He’d made a few attempts at a holodeck Jay, usually when drunk. It had been awful. Nothing came close to the real Jay, this Jay, his soulmate. 

They talked for a long time about where they’d been and what they’d seen while apart. Mike passed Jay tools and parts when needed. When the VCR was successfully repaired, Jay put it on the pick-up shelf and started in on the next one. 

“Wow, you’re really busy,” Mike said, giddy about this. 

“Yeah. It’s 1988!” 

“Shiiit. I saw your Halloween parade banners outside, you dork.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s also always October.” 

“You fucker.” Mike smirked when Jay looked up at him. “I love you.” 

“I know. Hey, speaking of Han Solo. Did you ever run into George Lucas again?”

“Yeah, actually, once. At this food court on the Y117 space station. He was sitting alone, eating a salad. I almost felt sorry for him. Then I remembered he choked you and I was like, fuck that guy. He deserves to be sitting alone eating a salad.” 

“That actually describes my life pretty accurately, these past few years.” 

“Rich said you were off having adventures.”

“I was! I mean, I did. But then I just got bored of it, you know. Without you.” 

Jay gave Mike a not-subtle glance to make sure he’d heard _I love you, too, you fucker_ in that. Mike was smiling smugly, because he had. 

“Where is Rich, anyway?” Jay asked, returning to his work.

“He’s wandering around, taking in the sights. He loves what you’ve done with the place. You remember the Wizard?”

“Yeah, of course. Wait, was he real?”

“Not exactly, but he works for Rich, bartending on my ship. You should come on board and check it out, he’d be glad to see you. He goes by Josh now.” 

“Why?” 

“Nobody knows why he does anything. You should see his hats. I told him he doesn’t have to dress like TNG Whoopi Goldberg. He says he wants to.” 

“I don’t know what that is but it sounds amazing.” 

“Yeah, it’s kinda great. Jim from the liquor store is the CMO, Colin’s an ensign. And that chick who ran the sub shop is my pilot.” 

“That’s hilarious. She hated me.” 

“Aw, who could hate you.” Mike reached over to pinch Jay’s cheek. Jay grunted with annoyance but otherwise allowed it. “Hey, Jay?”

“Yeah?” 

“You ever think about how we fought the forces of fate through the fabric of space and time itself to be together against all odds and ultimately demonstrated that love conquers all?”

“Mhmm, yeah, sometimes. That reminds me of this movie I rewatched recently, actually.” 

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it’s called _The Adjustment Bureau_. Remember that one?”

“Not really. Wait, was Matt Damon in it?”

“Yep. He’s running around with the woman he loves, trying to escape this network of secret overlords who decide what should happen and don’t want them to be together.” 

“Huh. I can’t remember if it was good.”

“It was all right.” Jay looked up from the VCR motor he’d been cleaning and gave Mike that earnest, entreating look of his. Mike had been all over the galaxy and had partied with literal gods. This sweetly hopeful expression on Jay’s face was still the greatest thing in the universe; he’d never really doubted or forgotten that. “We could watch it,” Jay said. “If you want. I’ve got a pretty sweet viewing room upstairs in my apartment.” 

“Sure. But wasn’t that released, like, way after 1988?” 

“Yeah, but who cares? I’m not that strict about the theming, at least not when I’m in the privacy of my own home.” 

Hearing Jay say the word _home_ made Mike swoon toward him. Jay laughed but didn’t protest Mike smooching him and moving further into his personal space. He swiveled his chair so he could put his arms around Mike’s neck. 

“You’re gonna be so bad for business,” Jay said.

“Oh my god!” Mike shot upright, wild with glee. “Did you just quote fucking _Moulin Rouge_??”

“Huh? How should I know, that movie fucking sucks.” 

“It’s not that bad! Haaa, you quoted _Moulin Rouge_ , Jay, you nerd.” 

“Okay, you can’t defend that stupid movie and give me shit for accidentally quoting it in the same breath, it doesn’t work that way.” 

“Sure I can! Guess who says that, in the movie? 

“No.”

“It’s the hooker! Nicole Kidman!” 

“Why do you know this movie so well?” 

“I like musicals, Jay. You know this about me. What would you do if I broke into song right now?”

“Die of secondhand embarrassment, probably.” 

“Wrong, you’re immortal.”

“Please don’t sing.” 

“Yourrrr’re heeeerre, there’s nuhhhhh-thing I fear--”

“Oh my god, no!” Jay put his hands over his ears and shook his head, but he was laughing, too.

“Do you have _Titanic_?”

“I have everything in the history of human media output. But I don’t want to watch _Titanic_ with you, Mike.” 

Something about this statement seemed romantic. Maybe everything did, just then. Mike pulled Jay out of his chair and attempted to waltz around the shop with him. Jay evaded his grip pretty easily, went to the front door and turned the sign around so that the CLOSED side faced out. 

“Rich is going to show up eventually,” Mike said. “So we should have reunion sex sooner rather than later, if, you know. If you want to.” 

“Sure do.” Jay took Mike’s hand and lead him into the back room, where a secret panel on the wall activated a door that revealed the stairway to his apartment. He paused at the bottom and gave Mike that earnest look again. “Uhh, have you tried it, by the way? Since getting an actual real-world body?” 

Mike made a face and tugged on his collar. Jay snorted. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “I figured you’d be getting with all manner of aliens in my absence.”

“Hey now. Not _all_ manner.” 

“Well, uhh. Incidentally, I never got around to it.”

“Not even once??” 

“No! Who was I gonna fuck? The human body is weird enough. Every alien has like, extra parts, or things missing, or they’re, like, an indistinct mist--” 

“I fucked an indistinct mist,” Mike said, thinking of the pilot on the _Scottsdale_ , whom he’d had an affair with despite Rich’s warnings that he was essentially fucking ether. “Technically.” 

“Of course you did. The point is--”

“I know what the point is, Jay. Don’t worry. It’s not that different from how it was inside the snow globe. At least, not so far.” 

“Maybe it will be different when it’s us again.” Jay looked nervous. He was squeezing Mike’s hand. 

“Maybe us having sex out here will implode the whole universe because we’re dangerously constructed echo-human hybrid anomalies,” Mike said.

“Yeah, maybe. Ready to find out?”

“Yep!”

They didn’t implode the universe upstairs in Jay’s bed, but it did feel different: better, or maybe it had just been so long that it seemed that way. Jay laughed nervously at random intervals and was red-faced the whole time. Mike cried, which made Jay laugh less nervously. He apologized, which made it worse, and kissed the wet corners of Mike’s eyes while he sniffled and denied that he was crying, accusing Jay’s apartment of being covered in cat dander and therefore activating the allergies that he didn’t actually have. 

“I can’t believe you have a cat,” Mike said when they were lying together afterward. “You’re like an old maid!”

“Yeah, yeah. I can’t believe you cried during sex.” 

“Shut up. I didn’t. Okay, I did. Fuckin’ sue me. I missed you.” 

“Aww. Yeah. Everything was such bullshit without you. Even the stuff that wasn’t. You know what I mean?”

Mike did, because he’d never quite broken the habit of wanting to whirl toward Jay and boggle in excitement or disgust at every exceptional thing he encountered. He rolled onto his side and clung harder than ever to Jay, wondering how this would work. Would he move in here and only go on sporadic space exploration voyages from now on? Would Jay come with him sometimes, or every time?

“Are you hiring?” Mike asked. “At the VCR shop?”

“Sure, Mike.” 

“Because I’m pretty good at repairing VCRs.” 

This was debatable, but Jay didn’t say so. He kissed the top of Mike’s head and touched the grey hairs at his temple, stroking his thumb over them like he was impressed. Mike had felt impressive plenty of times over the past twelve years, but nothing quite compared to being admired by Jay. It must be a soulmate thing, he thought, closing his eyes. 

He opened them again when they heard someone rattling the door downstairs as if they were trying to break into the shop. 

“That’ll be Rich,” Mike said. 

“Can’t he just use his god-powers to let himself in?” Jay asked, muttering this irritably because he was also nearing sleep.

“He’s probably afraid he’ll walk in on something he doesn’t want to see.” 

“Ugh, does he still consider us to be his parents?”

“Not really, but he definitely thinks of us as family.” 

“Aw,” Jay said, and he sat up. “I did miss him, too.” 

They got dressed and met Rich downstairs. He was enamored with the VCR shop, zipping around the room to examine every carefully crafted detail. 

“Look at you, creating Earth-resembling worlds!” Rich said, clapping both hands on Jay’s shoulders while floating in front of him. “A chip off the ole block, this one!”

“I still can’t get used to you flying,” Jay said. 

“Flying! That’s cute. I’m existing in a pre-gravity god domain overlay, Jay.” 

“Okay. Still weird.” 

Mike had forgotten what this chest-bursting feeling was like. It was as if he was vibrating just on the edge of obliteration, about to lose all structural integrity and blast apart against the pressure of his own happiness. All because he was hanging around in a VCR repair shop with his two favorite people. After everything he’d seen and done, it seemed strangely perfect that this was the best thing of all, that it would always be enough. 

Jay invited them both upstairs to watch movies and shoot the shit. He got beers from his fridge for himself and Mike, and the fact that he had Dr. Pepper on hand for Rich made Mike think Jay had long been anticipating this reunion, which briefly made him feel horrible for delaying it. Ultimately, though, the timing felt just right. They'd come right up to the edge of their ability to bear the ache of remaining apart, and it made being together again that much better. 

“Fuck it,” Jay said, dropping onto the couch and scooting under Mike’s arm while Rich settled in on the neighboring loveseat. “I’m putting on _A New Hope_.”

“Here’s to George Lucas,” Mike said, raising his beer bottle. “For accidentally granting us immortality in the process of trying to destroy us.” 

“May he long enjoy his lonely food court salads,” Jay said, lifting his bottle. 

Rich just cackled. The _Star Wars_ theme blasted from the speakers that surrounded Jay’s massive screen. Mike drank from his beer and leaned over to rest his cheek on top of Jay’s head as the movie’s opening crawl scrolled upward on the screen. How many times had they all seen this? Hundreds, maybe thousands. It still felt special in present company. He took another sip from his beer, hugged Jay a little closer, and looked to the window, subconsciously expecting to see snowfall. There was none, however. The skies were clear for now.

**Author's Note:**

> [merry christmas, ya filthy animals](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ef-N5o-edCM)


End file.
